


A Test of Endurance

by RememberThePetrichor



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Can't believe I'm writing fluff for Dofladile, Dark Childhoods, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-29 01:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14462181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RememberThePetrichor/pseuds/RememberThePetrichor
Summary: It’s strange the things that tie people back together.  A backwards glance.  A rash decision. Or in Croco and Doffy’s case, a severe psychotic episode in a dank alleyway at three in the morning. [Dofladile anthology with a tiny dollop of smut]





	1. A Test of Endurance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a non-linear narrative, but here's the story so far in chronological order:
> 
> 1\. Keep a distance  
> 2\. Tread lightly  
> 3\. Loguetown, pt. 1  
> 4\. Don't ever love  
> 5\. A Test of Endurance  
> 6\. Fire  
> 7\. The only way  
> 8\. a man survives  
> 9\. Loguetown, pt. 2  
> 10\. Loguetown, pt. 3  
> 11\. Beauty of a secret, pt. 1  
> 12\. Beauty of a secret, pt. 2
> 
> Extra: HBD, asshole

===

**_A Test of Endurance_ **

===

The very first time Crocodile had to deal with it, he was thirty-three and Doflamingo twenty-eight.

He’s only passing through Rubeck Island, not partial at all to the relatively frigid North Blue. The New World in general was beginning to lose its appeal for him, brimming over with too many ambitious idiots looking for a fight. It was rare for one among this brood to have gumption enough to back their words. But when there was, the waters flooded with Marines and chaos and grew obnoxious as all hell to travel. 

Just another reason, he supposed, to hate that damn bird.

So naturally, the last thing he wanted was an unexpected run-in while merely passing through. And so _very_ naturally indeed, that’s exactly what he ended up getting.

Nothing's noticeably wrong per se when he first stepped into that shadow-swathed alleyway. Doflamingo’s giant body was hunched over and he could catch the red glint of his shades. As he's not seen the other man in ages, Crocodile's really more taken aback than anything else. He's actually poised to spit out a customary insult when he heard the sound—a wet, squelching kind of noise, like clothes being beaten on a rock. 

Then it's a slow realization, on slightly closer inspection, that Doflamingo was not alone. A man, or what remained of one, was being bashed slowly but repeatedly into the wall. The noise was from the soft matter of his brains coming into contact with stone. 

Crocodile's brow rose only slightly. A life of piracy did not leave a man green to brutality for long.

And he had no illusions whatsoever of how brutal Doflamingo could be.

It's only after a whole minute's passed without Doflamingo noticing him that Crocodile's suspicion rose. Underneath all the eyesore-inducing flamboyance, he'd admit the brat was one endlessly observant bastard. He was never caught unaware of his surroundings and Crocodile _knew_ this like he knew his own name. 

So...

“Looks dead enough to me.”

To say Doflamingo jolted was an understatement. Light from the ghostly streets struck his face as he wrenched around. The entire left side spattered and flecked with gore, matching the soaked front of his shirt. He was silent, like he didn’t recognize him and Doflamingo was _never_ silent. He _never_ didn’t recognize him. Crocodile’s eyes narrowed further.

“What poor fool got so completely on your bad side?” he said, walking a few steps closer, nose wrinkling at the harsh crimson stain on the wall, “You’re usually a modicum more tactful than this, stupid bird.”

Tame insult by his standards, but it got him some movement. Doflamingo’s face smoothed a fraction. His voice sounded dazed and far away when he spoke.

“Croco?”

The nickname elicited a twitch, but Crocodile let it slide. “Who else would it be?”

Doflamingo didn’t answer. A light frown marred his features, something of genuine confusion in them. 

“…I thought you hated the cold. What are you doing on Minion Island?”

Silence. Crocodile stared. 

“What are you talking about, idiot? This isn’t—“

He’s cut off when Doflamingo started to laugh. The man’s usual bouts of hysteria were a nuisance always, but this particular one sounded strange. It had a low and trembling sound, burrowing like a snake through the undergrowth, and Crocodile refused to acknowledge the shudder it drew from his bones. Something was definitely wrong. 

“Fufufu, could it be you’re here for the Ope Ope no Mi too, Croc-man?” the grin widened, flaking off blood from his cheek and revealing slightly red-stained teeth, “Well, I hate to break it to you, but it’s long gone now. Long, long gone. The cage is empty. The fat lady has sung. That ship has sailed _literally._ ”

The last line seemed particularly amusing somehow because Doflamingo started cackling again, louder than before and higher pitched. The giant hand wrapped around the corpse tightened, nails dragging across the dead flesh. Anyone else would have withered with terror, but Crocodile only creased his mouth in disgust. He’s known Doflamingo since he was still a rookie, starved and jittery and willing to do anything just to get Crocodile to look his way. He's not fucking afraid of this brat. 

“Shut up,” he barked, eyes narrowing as he waited several seconds for Doflamingo to calm, “Listen carefully. We are on _Rubeck_ Island, not Minion. It’s your own damn base of operations. I have no idea what an Ope Ope fruit is and I couldn't give a shit anyway. I’ve got no business with this place. I’m just passing by.”

In hindsight, it’s probably up there in terms of number of words he's spoken to Doflamingo all their lives. Crocodile would never know then, however, of how many more times he’d find himself in this position—providing grounding and clarity, sorting out the broken pieces of whatever passed for Doflamingo’s sanity as it crumbled from year to year. 

“Do you understand?” he said, “Answer me, Doflamingo.”

For another additional beat, all he received was silence, before the damn bastard smiled again, tilting his head. Crocodile had never hated those fucking glasses more than that moment, because he couldn’t tell where the hell he was looking or if he was even seeing anything at all. 

The answer was clear shortly.

“Now I won’t be comfortable in the cold either.”

“What?”

“Why did it have to be snow?”

With a barely perceptible sigh, Crocodile straightened. This wasn’t working. He was better off finding one of Doflamingo’s executives now to deal with him rather than fruitlessly trying to knock the sense back in himself. Enough time had been wasted as it was. 

“Hey, hey, where’re ya going?”

Crocodile’s eyes widened when his body suddenly reeled back on its own, hurtling the last few feet like a toy before a pair of over-sized hands crossed over his front. He swore as the arch of his back slammed into a wall of muscle and pink feathers dusted the slope of his shoulders. The stench of blood on Doflamingo was overwhelming, as thick as fog and Crocodile could catch a whiff of wine as well on the hot breath against his nape. 

“Don’t leave,” Doflamingo slurred, “Don’t leave, Croco. You're always leaving. Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to scare you. C’mere, c’mere…”

“I’m already as close as I’m going to get, you freak!” Crocodile hissed, just barely keeping his rage from boiling over. Letting his guard down just because Doflamingo was out of sorts—how careless of him. 

The few experimental tugs he made against the ironclad limbs trapping him indicated strings were involved. Their invisible hold curled over his body like blades, each strand of wire filament almost too thin to see, but sharp enough to slice through bone and metal. Perhaps a testament to Doflamingo’s current state of mind, they’re bound haphazardly and sloppy enough that Crocodile could normally slip through with just a burst of sand. 

It was too bad Doflamingo was also dripping wet with blood and fuck knows what else, sealing off that route quickly.

Crocodile did not have time to test anything further before he’s pulled entirely into Doflamingo’s lap. The corpse he's only just released was so pulverized that Crocodile couldn’t even make out a face anymore. 

He had another idle thought that it was too fucking close, before he felt the lengthening tip of Doflamingo’s member, resting against the band of his pants. Unbelievably, and even out of his mind, the jackass was getting hard. 

Doflamingo’s larger body quivered again, a harsh giggle skittering through the space between them.

“God, you haven’t changed at all,” he said, as if it was funny, “I really did miss you, you know. Did you miss me? I kept having dreams where the desert would swallow you. I couldn’t make you stay, no matter what I said. No matter what I offered. It felt…odd, how you always denied me. How you always left.”

Crocodile twitched. If only a little, it bothered him then that he was being accused of walking away. _You left me too,_ a little undisciplined corner of him thought. "We didn't make any promises."

Doflamingo didn’t reply. Probably didn’t even hear him.

“Did you miss me?” 

Crocodile sighed again, not knowing how to respond to that and so not bothering. It’s an unorthodox relationship they’d had—borne out of the pragmatic business of lust. 

Nowadays, they’ve both made enough of a name for themselves that the meetings were very occasional, mostly on the rare chance that they were both in the area and the less rare chance that Crocodile was bored and Doflamingo was horny. 

But even then, their most recent encounter had been four years ago; his final contact being a call from Doflamingo at some ungodly hour of the morning, in which the man babbled on and on about finding his long-lost little brother again before Crocodile eventually hung up on him.

 _Wonder where the fuck that little brother is now._ Crocodile thought testily, as the damn bird rested his forehead against the curve of Crocodile’s neck. 

The touch was burning. Everything about Doflamingo was burning. A skin-melting heat. A suffocating one. He remembered very well.

Crocodile ignored the twinge of arousal. As surreal as it sounded, he knew he’d be taking advantage if he gave in now. Life would be far easier if he didn't have the Donquixote Family baying for his blood later on. 

So he said, half a growl, "I don't know what the hell's going on with you, but...given the circumstances, I’m willing to overlook your bullshit just this once, Doflamingo. Let go before you regret it.”

He wasn’t expecting the sudden flinch at the words. Doflamingo’s hands tightened over his flesh and Crocodile hissed, elbowing the younger man’s head. He could just picture the welts and bruises already forming beneath those fingertips--filthy smears of blood and fluid.

“I never regret anything,” Doflamingo murmured, lips shifting against the first few segments of Crocodile’s spine, “Never. Not _anything_. Not even…I can’t. I _don’t._ Not me not me not me…”

“Okay,” Crocodile says, voice low, “I get it. Calm down.”

Doflamingo shook his head, arms wrapping tighter. His heart was thundering. Crocodile could almost imagine it punching right through its rib cage and out of his chest. 

“…He wouldn’t stay.”

“Who?”

There’s no response. Doflamingo pressed the corner of a temple against his skin, breathing raggedly.

“I feel like shit.” 

But he’s peppering kisses now along Crocodile’s nape, the flutter of his tongue teasing at Crocodile’s self-control, pushing all the buttons he hadn’t even known he possessed. Doflamingo was still grinning. Still shaking.

Crocodile exhaled and turned a little awkwardly, reaching up with his good hand.

“Then stop already.” 

Despite the unbearable heat radiating from him, Doflamingo’s face was surprisingly cool. Crocodile brushed a thumb almost gently across the high cheekbones. Doflamingo did pause then, chin propped on Crocodile’s shoulder. But he didn’t try anything and his head was slumping a bit as his expression loosened, lost somewhere in his own mind. 

It occurred to Crocodile then how very easily he could've killed him. A slash across the jugular or a dose of venom to the spinal cord and the Donquixote Crew would be finished. The North Blue throne would lose its strongest contender and power balances would shift once more. 

Crocodile’s opportunistic side turned the idea over and over again. 

What was the man to him anyway aside from an endless distraction and a faded memory between his sheets? 

The corners of Crocodile’s lips tugged downward. Slowly, his hand grazed past Doflamingo’s temple, slipping into his spiky blonde hair. The locks were damp and heavy with cold sweat. Crocodile gripped a handful.

“Shhh,” he said as he pulled Doflamingo back until his head was raised. The larger man wasn’t particularly aware of what was going on, but a loopy smile darkened his lips as Crocodile shifted closer, keeping a hold of Doflamingo’s hair as a makeshift leash. 

They were barely three inches apart, close enough to touch lips and exchange breath. The pronounced bob of Doflamingo’s throat bore wide for him and Crocodile’s hook glinted as he lifted it. 

_I really did miss you, you know…_

He didn’t bother with lies. 

“This is going to hurt.”

And then he _clocked_ Doflamingo in the head as hard as he could.

Instantly, the younger man flailed and recoiled. “Fucking finally,” Crocodile muttered when he felt the strings around his limbs disintegrate. He shifted into a more comfortable position in Doflamingo’s lap and whacked the man three more times for good measure.

“YOU GIANT,” he grunted between attacks, “ _PAIN IN THE ASS_ …ALWAYS MAKING TROUBLE FOR ME…WAKE. **THE. FUCK.** UP AND COME BACK ALREADY!”

In hindsight, he probably hadn't needed to strike Doflamingo as many times as he had, but that was an insignificant detail. 

What mattered was the very subtle change that occurred. Crocodile could pinpoint the exact moment when Doflamingo’s frame relaxed from its previous, almost manic shivering. The large hands at his hips slackened and the heavy darkness that lingered in the alleyway seemed to recede.

Doflamingo wasn’t smiling anymore. Some of the color returned to his near-pasty complexion, but also left him looking drawn and gray.

And in the present.

“…Crocodile?”

Although it must be the first time ever he's heard that voice say his proper name, Crocodile didn't answer. Instead, he looped the side of Doflamingo’s glasses with his hook, sliding them down until they clattered off completely. Doflamingo didn’t move. 

The single blue eye that stared back at him was red-veined and smudged black from lack of sleep. It was every bit as hard, hungry and cruel as he remembered, but also lucid and finally looking at him with recognition. 

If he were any other kind of man, Crocodile would have sighed in relief. Instead he leaned back on Doflamingo’s knees and wished for a cigar.

“Get your ass home,” he said, “Fool.”

And in a spray of sand, he was gone.

* * *

Crocodile left Rubeck Island.

For the next week and a half, he busied himself with plans for opening a casino in Alabasta—a scrappy desert kingdom along the Paradise half of the Grand Line. He’s heard tell of a promising weapon called Pluton that’s supposedly located there, and wanted a closer base to gather information. 

He honestly didn’t think about that night or Doflamingo at all, though that didn’t mean he’s especially surprised when he walked into his cabin one day and the younger man was there lounging against the wall. 

For a minute, Crocodile did nothing but stare, before stepping in and closing the door behind him. He shrugged off his coat, slinging it over a chair and noted that Doflamingo was devoid of his pink monstrosity today as well. 

Without it, he looked considerably less bulky. He wasn’t smiling either, which made him look tired. 

Crocodile did not ask how he found him, how he got in or why he’s even here. They’re all questions with irrelevant answers in the end. 

“You’re looking better,” he observed coolly, glancing at a bottle of…Dressrosan wine now sitting on his table. Doflamingo has kept from messing around with his belongings or sprawling himself out on the bed like he always used to. 

It’s indication enough of how thoroughly embarrassed he was, Crocodile noted blandly. With a quick twist of his hook, the bottle uncorked. He poured a full glass and downed it in one gulp. Aromatic and spice-flavored, a hint of something dark and elusive. Crocodile refused to draw comparisons.

Doflamingo still hadn’t moved or spoken. 

With a sigh, Crocodile walked over to his bed, standing with his back to the other man. 

“Well?” he said, reaching for his buttons, “If you’re here to threaten me into silence, I suggest you hurry it up. I’ve a meeting tonight and I’ll need time to mop your blood off my floors.”

The arms were around him before he’d even finished speaking. Crocodile stood stock-still, eyes on the opposite wall. Doflamingo smelled like the wind and sunlight. Nothing of madness in that smell. He really did remember it well. 

“I’m sorry,” the brat said, “It doesn’t happen often. Almost never. It’s just these past few days have been…a bit rough for me.”

He didn’t explain further, but Crocodile already knew. In the time that’s passed, he’s learned about the death of the younger Donquixote brother. No doubt there’s something far more horrible and twisted about the whole thing than surface level suggested, but Crocodile hadn’t pried any more than that.

Doflamingo’s family was of no concern to him. Doflamingo wouldn’t concern him either, if the trash bird didn’t keep insisting upon it.

“Do you take anything? Don’t tell me you just wander off alone and let it happen.”

A chuckle rumbled against him. 

“You sound worried,” Doflamingo mused and continued quickly before Crocodile could try to head-butt him, “I have a hard time remembering what I do. There aren’t many in my family who know, just my executives. Though Vergo did say he’s having a lab cook up some wonderful drugs for me.”

Crocodile snorted before he could check himself. 

“Always knew there was something wrong with you.”

Doflamingo ignored him, fingers reaching up to finish undoing the rest of Crocodile’s buttons with ridiculous speed. Crocodile scowled as his shirt was thrown aside without regard. Still bratty as ever. 

“Enough with the chatter. It’s been four years. Let me have you already.” 

Warm palms ran down his torso, heating his muscles even as his nipples stiffened in the cool air. Doflamingo was hard as a rock and Crocodile could feel his own cock about to spring into action as well. It really had been four years. 

“One last thing,” he said, paying no mind to Doflamingo’s groan, “That man you were with in the alley. Why did you kill him?”

Doflamingo went quiet for a beat so long that Crocodile thought he wasn't going to answer, before he did.

“He was getting money on the side for ratting out my whereabouts to other crews,” a chin rested on his head, “I’m growing rather sick of being stabbed in the back.”

There was weakness in those words. Crocodile could smell it like blood in the water. 

“Hm, that makes sense then. Even if you acted like an animal,” was all he said.

“Fufu, how rich coming from you, Croco. You know you gave me a concussion that night.”

“Oh? I wasn’t aware your head held enough contents for concussions.”

Another chuckle, with a tinge of fondness Crocodile pretended not to hear. Doflamingo’s weight was bearing down on him. He felt a full pair of lips brush across the tip of his ear. 

“Cruel as ever. I’ve missed that. This isn’t the kind of reunion I was hoping for, but I’m glad I get to touch you again.” 

“Very eloquent,” Crocodile said dryly, and then because Doflamingo has already humiliated himself many times over, he figured what the hell and added…

"Suppose I'll indulge you just a bit more.”

Silence followed, but Crocodile could picture the grin, shocked and delighted, threatening to split the stupid face right in half. Eager hands guided him down onto the bed without another word.

And for the first time in a long time, Crocodile let them.

* * *

**fin.**


	2. Fire

There were certain triggers.

Crocodile noted these very meticulously, filing each little observation away in his head under the umbrella label of “Dumbass Bird.” 

Stress. Fatigue. The clatter of sticks. The thud of boots. Swinging ropes and acrid smoke. 

And fire.

Especially fire.

He found this one out the annoying way.

* * *

“See something you like, _wani-man_?”

Crocodile resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If possible, his gaze grew even more dispassionate as he regarded Doflamingo, who’s managed somehow to fold his gargantuan body into a windowsill across the room.

“I see an idiot about to freeze his ass off,” he snapped, and then nodded ever so slightly at the roaring fireplace he’s sitting beside, “Come here before you get sick. I’m not going to have you ringing me up constantly just to bitch and moan about a cold.”

Doflamingo pouted, but didn’t budge. If anything he seemed to scrunch up tighter on principle, mile-long legs crossing beneath him. Crocodile could see the frosty moonlight carving swathes out of his bared midriff. He didn’t even have his absurd coat on, merely sporting a threadbare shirt and pants. 

With vague curiosity, Crocodile’s gaze shifted through the inn room for a flash of nauseating pink, before he remembered ripping it off Doflamingo’s shoulders himself this afternoon during their very…preoccupied visit to the docks. Had Doflamingo not been able to find it afterwards? 

Crocodile thought about this for all of two seconds before deciding he didn’t care. The thing was an eyesore anyway. 

“Hn, fine. Then stay there and freeze. Try whining about this later and I’ll fucking skin you.”

“How violent,” Doflamingo murmured, with a small smile, “You didn’t have to come with me at all, you know.”

And he wouldn’t have, given normal circumstances. Crocodile’s eyes darted towards one of the room’s numerous antique clocks. Almost quarter to ten. Daz should be meeting with Vergo soon. He wasn’t particularly fond of all this espionage when a simple call would have sufficed, but Vergo (the _least_ unbearable of Doflamingo’s executives) had insisted for the sake of security. As he's the only one of Doflamingo's whole damn crew who wouldn't go blurting Crocodile's request to him at first chance, Crocodile clenched his teeth and agreed.

Thus here he was, resigned to the role of distraction. 

“I already told you. I’ve vested interest in some of the customers you met today. Had to make sure you wouldn’t terrorize them.”

“With what? My winning personality?” Doflamingo said, and flapped a nonchalant hand at his glare, “Don’t worry your pretty head, Croco. Everyone wants a piece of the Underworld these days. I could show up to these meetings in my birthday suit and the deals would still go through.”

He spoke as if it’s a fully tested fact, which Crocodile was most assuredly certain it was. 

In a mean-spirited sort of way, he's amused. 

“Shitty birds of a feather flock together.”

Doflamingo grinned and Crocodile just knew he was about to turn that into either a quip regarding their own association or something else of a more lewd nature, but in the end he did neither.

He coughed. Several times. 

And then sneezed once.

If the exasperation had crashed into Crocodile any harder, he would’ve toppled over. 

“Come here now, you dumb asshole,” he snapped, stabbing his hook at the plush chair next to his. 

“No,” Doflamingo said, with a light frown, probably at his own lapse in control. He rubbed his throat and cast a half-second glance at the crackling fire that turned into a stare. “No, no, I’m fine.”

He obviously wasn’t, because Crocodile could see the faint purple tinge to his lips. Crocodile’s eyes narrowed, trying to puzzle out the other’s reluctance. 

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he demanded, “You don’t have to sit right next to me, just get away from the window.”

Doflamingo twitched. The flames danced in the reflection of his glasses. 

“It’s not…”

Then he trailed off. There’s hazy distance in his voice and Crocodile recognized that tone with a sinking feeling, even if it’s been months since the last time he’s heard it.

“Doflamingo?”

The man shook his head. “I…”

He stopped again as his face went slack and pale. When he did speak once more, it’s to mutter something so softly that Crocodile has to strain his ears to hear it. 

_“…the skin on your hands grows back tougher. If they want to burn something, just give up your hands…”_

Ice flooded Crocodile’s veins. _Shit._

He’s on his feet before he realized it, sending a cursory glance around the room for the offender, before landing on the fireplace. On some instant, gut-deep level, he understood. 

“Bird.” Crocodile stepped in front of Doflamingo, making a point of blocking the flames with his shadow. Doflamingo didn’t snap back into awareness immediately though and a sharp sound of annoyance slipped through Crocodile’s lips.

Damn brat was always making him touch him.

“Hey,” he said and curled fingers beneath Doflamingo’s chin. While the other was hunched down like this, Crocodile found he was actually taller and took half a second to relish this fact before hooking the glasses off Doflamingo’s face again.

Even in the dim lighting of the room, the other man grimaced from the exposure. Crocodile held fast as he tried to flinch away. 

“Look at me,” he said very quietly and waited until those dazed, haunted blue eyes were on him, “It’s over, alright? You’re not there anymore.”

Wherever “there” may be. His thumb brushed across a strong cheekbone. He did this repeatedly, almost gently, until Doflamingo wandered back into coherence.

“Do you use lotion?” was the first lucid thing he said.

Crocodile went in for a smack (though he supposed he wasn't really trying), which Doflamingo dodged with grinning ease. An arm hooked around Crocodile's waist and he grunted as it tugged him close. Doflamingo chuckled, pressing his face to Crocodile’s torso and it’s only because of the slight desperation in the younger man’s grip that he didn’t get promptly shoved off. Crocodile still struggled a bit out of spite, before sighing, resting a hand on Doflamingo’s back.

“So fire triggers it,” he said and it’s not posed as a question, “You should’ve told me, fool.”

There was silence. All he saw beneath him were the blonde spikes of Doflamingo’s hair, but somehow Crocodile could still picture the sullen frown when the reply finally came.

“I was being considerate.”

He laughed immediately. ‘Considerate’ was the _last_ conceivable word that should be used to describe Doflamingo and they both knew it. 

Strangely though, the younger man lifted his head to reveal a tired scowl. Crocodile almost swore it looked offended. 

“What are you talking about?” he asked, half-lounging his elbow against Doflamingo’s shoulder, “You’d have been much more ‘considerate’ if you’d told me about your issue with fire beforehand, instead of insisting on lighting it and then almost going batshit again.” 

“I could’ve handled it. I just had to stay away. Everything was _fine_ , until you started nagging at me like an old maid,” Doflamingo retorted, a hint of real petulance in his voice and Crocodile felt his eye twitch.

“I found you soaked in blood and babbling to yourself in an alley only two months ago,” he growled, “You’re in no position to be taking pointless risks for something as stupid as your ego.”

“It wasn’t for _my ego_ \-- 

“Oh really?“”

“--It was for _you_.” 

Crocodile stared. 

It’s blank enough that he didn’t protest when Doflamingo huddled under his heavy coat, trying to shelter his head against both the fire and cold.

He probably should pretend he hadn’t heard that at all, but…

“What?”

A small shrug. “You said you like sunbathing,” Doflamingo murmured and before Crocodile could deck him because he has NEVER said that—“And North Blue barely sees the sun. It’s all snow and darkness here and you didn’t have to come with me today, so I thought…since fire’s the closest thing…”

He trailed off again, but this time Crocodile was glad for it. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the light tremor still coursing through Doflamingo’s body, perhaps an aftershock of the near-episode. In the pit, the fire continued to crackle cheerfully and obliviously. They hadn’t even needed to book a room with a working fireplace in the first place, but Doflamingo had spent an extra four-hundred Beris to get one. Crocodile remembered stretching his aching muscles before it earlier, letting his bones soak up the heat, grateful somewhere in the back of his mind for the spot of warmth along the frigid North Blue waters. 

He could hear his heart beating in his ears. The blood rushing to his face was barely driven away through sheer willpower. 

Doflamingo was not a kind man and Crocodile was not a sentimental one. They’re familiar with each other in the way a knife was familiar with flesh. They didn’t do romantic shit last time Crocodile checked. And they didn’t do _consideration._

Crocodile wanted to snap that this wasn’t what he signed up for, but just ended up standing there instead.

God, he hated this brat.

“Move.” 

He elbowed a surprised Doflamingo until the other managed to shove over enough room. With stony gravity, Crocodile crammed himself down into the narrow space next to Doflamingo. “Croco?” Doflamingo ventured, an echo of confusion and unease.

“Shut up.”

A flick of his wrist sent a scoop of sand across to the fire, smothering the flames. Night spread instantly into the room like the leathery wings of a bat, leaving only the moonlight from the window for illumination. 

Crocodile tossed Doflamingo’s glasses into his lap and lit a cigar. He leaned back, breathing out a lungful of smoke and could feel the arctic air even through the glass and his clothes. They must look ridiculous as fuck right now; two giant men pressed into the tight box of a corner window, the rest of the room languishing in the dark. 

“Don’t talk,” Crocodile warned, “We’re going to sit here until you can think straight again and not shake like a fucking rattle.”

To his credit, Doflaimingo remained silent. He slid his glasses on with an unreadable expression and that’s the last Crocodile wanted to look at him.

He didn’t say a word even as Doflamingo leaned in, slumping his weight against Crocodile’s arm. 

“Fufu, this takes me back,” he whispered, promptly breaking the ‘don’t talk’ order, “Remember when we were small enough to fit in these types of windows without touching?”

“Not that it stopped you,” Crocodile snapped, though of course he did remember. He didn’t know why he recalled so well those rookie days, but he did. Him at twenty-two and Doflamingo at seventeen. Bare feet, ripped clothes and cooled dust beneath the shade. Huddled against the dirty window of a warehouse in Loguetown waiting for history to begin.

“We were almost caught thanks to you.”

“But it was worth it,” Doflamingo insisted, “I’ll never forget how you tasted. We should fuck against windows more often.”

Crocodile sneered at the crudeness just as Doflamingo’s tongue darted out to lick the angle of his jaw. He had no idea what it was about Doflamingo’s dissociative fits that seemed to heighten his sexual appetite, but it was incredibly irritating. 

“I’ll never forget how we almost fell out of the window to our deaths,” he said blandly, “Or how you fell asleep on top of me for over an hour.”

Doflamingo just laughed and trembled some more, hot breath against his skin. He’s dangerously close to the previous welts and marks he’d left strewn across Crocodile’s throat and chest this afternoon. The tender coloring was just beginning to fade and Crocodile had to hold back a gasp (or god forbid a _moan_ ) when he felt teeth nip the area again.

Like hell this was happening.

Doflamingo whined when Crocodile snatched him by the hair and yanked them apart. He’s not erect yet, so Crocodile released him with a cold shove.

“Let’s not repeat the past when we’re eighty feet above ground and you’re about as stable as a stack of cards.”

“ _House of cards,_ ” Doflamingo corrected just to be a jackass, even if his pout suggested he didn’t get much satisfaction out of it. 

Crocodile ignored him, crossed his arms and resumed smoking. In the end, they kind of did repeat the past since Doflamingo soon fell asleep and tilted sideways against him. 

The clocks struck ten-thirty. Almost on the dot, Crocodile heard a faint noise from his pocket and dug out the transponder snail, reading Daz’s message on the shell’s digital screen. 

_**22:30:00 DAZ BONES:** Got the prescriptions. List is long and expensive. Sure this is worth it?_

Crocodile’s ass was going numb and the damn bird was starting to drool. He’s ninety-nine percent certain that Daz’s question was less about whether he thought the cash was worth it, but more about if he thought _Doflamingo_ was worth it.

Which of course he wasn’t. Crocodile had known Doflamingo wasn’t worth it since day one. He’s said as much right to Doflamingo’s face before, which has never garnered more than a snicker of agreement. 

He wasn’t appreciative of this sudden divergence from the set way of things. Doflamingo wasn’t suppose to miss him or be _considerate_ or have crippling, exploitable mental weaknesses. He’s barely even suppose to be human. 

As if sensing he’s being thought about, said man mumbled into his shoulder, snoring softly. Crocodile sighed, long and heavy and slow. 

_**22:31:47 CROCODILE:** Just send it over. _

_**22:42:00 CROCODILE:** And keep an eye out when you return to dock. Bastard bird lost his jacket._

* * *

**fin.**


	3. Loguetown, pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely inspired by the gorgeous Lovely Hollow dj - Die For Me

Loguetown sweltered in the afternoon heat. It smelled perpetually of grease and gun polish. Crocodile deviated between hate and awe. Not even arrogance could help him dismiss the things that had happened here recently. 

“Fufu, don’t float away on me now.”

Doflamingo’s shadow cast over his face, blocking the pounding sun. Crocodile sweated little but the bird was a different story. Slow rivulets inched along his long, ridged torso, his square jaw and blonde hair. He looked ravenous and his teeth were like a hound’s. Brat’s barely at the end of his teens, but Crocodile realized for the first time how fucking tall he’s going to become. 

“Port’s cleared out,” he said, without context and seemingly at random. Doflamingo grunted in understanding though; he’s probably just as aware of the shifting atmosphere as Crocodile was.

“Hm, it has, hasn’t it? Man’s barely been dead a day and they’re already itching for his throne.” 

The derision was evident. Crocodile should not let it needle him, but it did. “You disapprove? I had no idea you were such a little fanboy.”

A snicker. Doflamingo took a lot of the barbs in stride and Crocodile swore it was just to be irritating.

“Settle down, I only meant they were being reckless. Sixty different ships rushing off at the break of dawn. No direction or plans. No concept of what it is they want. Half of them probably expect to just stumble along One Piece somewhere on the Grand Line. They’re all going to die _horribly._ ” 

The asphalt roof scraped against his naked back as Doflamingo pressed down on him—salt-riddled moisture on bone-dry pores. He couldn’t tell where Doflamingo’s eyes were, but saw the distant shoreline reflected in his glasses. 

“Still, I could wax on for hours and it wouldn’t keep you from going too, would it?”

Crocodile huffed. He allowed him a cold smirk.

“I’ve never listened to you before, fool. Why the hell would I start now for the most important thing I’ll ever do?”

Doflamingo smiled back. “Fufu, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

Then bony fingers struck out and gripped his wrists. Crocodile grunted in surprise as he was suddenly pinned to the rooftop, both hands restrained on either side of his head.

“So what if I just keep you here like this then? I’ll truss you up in strings, keep you weighted in sea stone. You couldn’t hope to move a finger, let alone to leave.”

There’s a surprising hint of stubborn petulance in the tone. 

The steep swell of fury climbing breakneck up Crocodile abated for a beat. Doflamingo was smiling, always smiling, but his brows twitched and his pulse throbbed and he’s not old enough yet to hide much behind it.

Crocodile’s eyes glinted with mockery. “Heh, and where would you get sea stone, you dramatic little shit?”

“Marine ships always have them.”

“I see. And should I wait here then? Patiently, while you raid one for chains to cuff me down in?”

“That’s the idea.”

Crocodile sighed. His tolerance wore thin and his voice was half a snarl. 

“Get off me, Doflamingo. I won’t say it twice.”

There’s a moment in which the brat didn’t move. It stretched on long enough that Crocodile imagined spraying bird blood all over the rooftop, before he felt the fingers around his wrists release. Doflamingo’s smile has faded and he’s vaguely pouting.

Maybe it would’ve been cute if he weren’t stained in sweat and semen. 

Crocodile sat up too. He snatched up his discarded trousers from where they hung on a rusted antenna and took his time slipping them on. He could feel Doflamingo sitting there watching him, legs folded and still bare-ass naked. 

In another decade or so, he would never mention the One Piece again, but today he could hear its siren song. Perhaps it’s better that Doflamingo never did. Perhaps it’s worse.

“You should search for it too. I’d never let you have it, but it’d be a fun time.”

Doflamingo’s smile was small. Its size had always shrunk inverse to the degree of his sincerity. This, at least, would never change.

“Sorry, Croco, but I’m not like you. Our dreams are…very different, you know.”

“I don’t.” Crocodile scowled. He’s a tad disappointed somewhere deep down, but not actually surprised. “I never have actually. You’ve spilled a lot of blood to make a name and you’re not planning to stop. If it’s not to be Pirate King, then what is it that you want anyway?”

There was something abominable about Doflamingo’s laugh then. His crimson shades gleamed, full of burning faces and black water. 

“I’m a simpler person than you think.”

Crocodile’s mouth pursed. He conjured a cigar from a handful of sand.

“You need better dreams.”

“Maybe,” Doflamingo agreed and the grin was stretching again, “But we want what we want, don’t we? Whether it’s good for us or not.”

Crocodile only sneered, feeling some faint disgust. A ring of hot smoke flowed from his lips and drifted towards the sun. He’s already accepted there were parts of Doflamingo he’d never care to understand. 

“Fine. Do as you will.” 

He turned to leave, jacket half-slung over his shoulder, when there’s a sharp tug on his arm and leg, halting him mid-step.

“Fufu, that’s it? This could very well be the last time we see each other and this is all I get?”

“Would you like a free disembowelment as well?” Crocodile whispered, “Let go.”

He’s ignored.

“Don’t be swallowed by a dream. You’re strong enough to make your own choice.” 

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“You’ve gotta come back,” Doflamingo said, and he’s frowning now, “You’ve gotta come back. Who am I suppose to call when I take over the North Blue or become a warlord? You’ve gotta come back. Even if the sea tries to eat you. Even if you have to give bits and pieces of yourself away.” 

Maybe it’s the odd cloud, creeping meekly by the raging sun, but Doflamingo looked pale and shadowed suddenly. Crocodile imagined seeing a writhing darkness behind him, a tendril wrapped around an ankle or elbow, ready to drag him in.

For the first time, he looked truly young, limbs all folded up, temple rested against a roof duct, sitting on the ground while Crocodile remained standing. He’s twined at least six different strings around Crocodile, even while perfectly aware they couldn’t hold him. 

The whole display was strangely lonely, but how did that make sense? Doflamingo had a whole family to coddle him and lavish him with attention, while the only things Crocodile had ever exchanged with him are bloody scratches and friction. 

He sighed, feeling sort of resentfully exasperated. Never would he understand this dumbass brat. 

Sand spilled from his open hand, hardening into an extendable limb. After glancing around, Crocodile spotted the insufferable pink jacket crumpled in a pile and sent the sand forward. The stupid thing was heavier than it looked, despite all the feathers. 

He dropped it roughly on Doflamingo’s head. He didn’t see the bird’s startled expression the first time, his face half-cloaked now in feathers in addition to his glasses. He did the second though when he tugged Doflamingo’s goggles right off his forehead and had the sand deposit them in his hand. 

Crocodile folded the straps neatly.

“Don’t spew lofty goals like they’re nothing. You’re always too fucking full of yourself.” He paused for a beat. “And I am coming back.” 

The jacket slid off Doflamingo’s head, landing in his naked lap. He didn’t move. 

Crocodile dangled the goggles in his hand. “I’ll be taking these as a reminder of how much I fucking hate you. So wait here for me like a good boy until I can smash these back into your face.”

He didn’t pause for Doflamingo to reply. The expression was reply enough. Crocodile’s mouth twisted into the faintest of smirks. Maybe he’d prove Doflamingo wrong, he thought. Maybe he’d find the One Piece, become Pirate King and never need any of this again. Crocodile figured even then, he’d still come back though. 

To return the shitty goggles at least and…maybe say goodbye.

When he turned this time, the strings let him go.

* * *

**to be continued...**


	4. Loguetown, pt. 2

Rain Dinners is built out of bronze and platinum, chandeliers and satin and dead-end corridors. The faucets of the restrooms are the same gold as the sun, as Alabasta’s sand, as the flecks in his beloved reptile’s eyes when he strolls over the bridge next to him, serious as stone.

“I always did love your style, Croco,” Doflamingo says, whistling at the décor. He grins at the young girl in his arms, “What do you think, Sugar? Isn’t it nice?”

“Yep!” The girl chirps, green hair bouncing and beams back in a manner so innocent that the inappropriateness of the atmosphere cracks him up.

Crocodile swings his head around to glower at them. It’s not entirely clear if it’s out of disapproval or annoyance. 

“You better watch her,” he says, “This is a casino, not a daycare. She breaks anything or _anyone_ , and it’s your ass I’m coming after.”

“Oh, I know it,” Doflamingo grins, as wide and lurid as he can make it, and receives another blood-curdling glare in reply. He’d brought Sugar along half because she’d been going stir-crazy and half just to see this man’s reaction.

He must say how deeply flattering it is that Crocodile assumes his guests are more in danger of Sugar than the other way around. His Croco thought so highly of his Family! 

“That’s no good, Young Master.” A small finger pokes his cheek. Sugar is frowning reproachfully at him, free hand half-cupped over her mouth in a whisper. “A gentleman shouldn’t wear a face like that.”

She pokes him again and he blinks, smile shrinking on reflex. Sugar studies it, before nodding in approval, settling herself more comfortably in the crook of his elbow. 

“Much better.” 

Before he can even open his mouth, an angry hiss comes from ahead. 

“Oi, bastard!” Crocodile is already several feet down the boardwalk, looking pissier by the second. “Hurry up. I don’t have all day.”

Sugar’s look is equally expectant. Doflamingo chuckles and hustles along.

* * *

“Ah, look, look, Young Master,” Sugar drags him out onto the balcony, pointing down towards the moat, “Bananawanis!”

The spacious suite they’ve been given has a stunning aerial view of the giant gators, about five in total, all them sunbathing along the rocky shore. Some of them glance upward at the noise, regarding the girl with resounding indifference as she pulls on Doflamingo’s pantleg.

Doflamingo cocks his head, leaning in even though the banister barely comes up to his waist. “Fufu, my god, did you have these imported? You sure know how to push the motifs.”

“Says the flamingo man in his bright pink coat,” Crocodile snaps over his shoulder. He mutters something to the sweaty, dear-in-headlights manager that sounds a lot like “unlimited room service,” before waving him off. 

Sugar plops down on Doflamingo’s left foot and draws her knees up close. “Young Master, did you know bananawanis can grow to the size of submarines?” she asks, head almost sticking through the bars, “I read they can even hunt sea kings.”

Absently, he shifts his left leg back a bit, before she can get herself stuck. “Oh? Is that so?” How utterly fitting. Deadly and defiant. Suitably cold-blooded beasts for their owner, no matter the clichés. 

“Uh-huh, though I didn’t see any sea kings earlier.” Sugar strokes her chin, peering back and over Doflamingo’s ankle. “Hey, Mr. Wani, what do you feed them?”

 _“Mr. Wani?”_ Doflamingo guffaws at the same time Crocodile snarls. Sugar just blinks and nods.

“Yeah, I also read that bananawanis will eat anything, but that can’t be good for them right? So what else do you feed them?”

Crocodile stares for a minute like he can’t decide whether to stay angry or not. He must think it isn’t worth the energy in the end, because he just sighs and tucks his hand in his pocket.

“An assorted balance of meat and fish. Sometimes sea kings. They’re not picky, but varied diet helps keep their size and sheen.”

“Ehhh, they don’t have any favorites? Don’t they get treats?”

“…There is one particular thing they prefer.”

“Really? What’s that, Mr. Wani?”

If looks could kill Doflamingo is certain he’d be little more than a pile of ash and feathers smoldering on Crocodile’s Persian rug by now. As it so happens however, they can’t, so Doflamingo snorts again and makes a shitty effort of holding back his snickers. Crocodile seethes and looks directly at him while answering.

“Oversized birds.”

Sugar gasps. The look she sends Doflamingo is utterly heartbroken. He wonders if he might need to remind her that he’s not actually a bird, when Crocodile abruptly turns to exit. 

Then Doflamingo is much more worried that the other man’s mood has soured for real, before Crocodile thankfully halts at the threshold.

“You’ll have free reign over the amenities and staff, as long as you don’t get unreasonable. Keep yourselves entertained for the next two days. Bother me and die. I’ll be in my office.” 

The door slams shut in his wake.

Ah, so frigid. A dark, shivering hunger clashes with a lighter, loopier smile and Doflamingo can barely hold back either. Sugar hops to her feet, twirling around.

“I like him, Young Master,” she declares, hands folded behind her, “He’s so pretty!”

The absurdity of the statement shoves him back into the present. Doflamingo glances down. He should probably correct her soon on the aptness of the word “handsome” in place of “pretty,” but tosses the idea for another day.

“Even prettier than me?” he drawls, and strolls past her into the room again. 

“That’s different,” Sugar replies, matter-of-fact, as she patters after him, “Young Master is like the sun. But Mr. Wani is the moon. You both hang in the sky, but look over different worlds and can’t be compared.”

Doflamingo blinks at her. How strangely poetic. His reptile is a bit like the moon though, isn’t he? All distant and cold and ghosting just beyond his reach. Doflamingo backpedals out of those thoughts before he can start getting hard right there in the middle of the room. 

“Fufu, I see.”

He opens the refrigerator, lips curving at how it’s stocked to the brim with fresh cakes and fruit, sparkling juices and wines. The TV carries every channel and movie imaginable and even holds gaming and video chat options. Sugar claps her hands at the luxuries, eyes wide with delight. Doflamingo lets a sharp smile grow on his face. It’s both subtle and incredibly obvious that Crocodile is helping him keep Sugar occupied. 

“I’ll be back later, dollface,” he says, turning to the door, “Be a good girl till then.”

Sugar pouts immediately. “Ehhh? Why? Where are you going, Young Master?”

“Work. It‘s why we’re staying here, remember?” Partially anyway. 

“You mean that’s _actually_ why?” the girl slumps as if she’s been blind-sided, “Is it warlord stuff?”

Doflamingo thinks of flushed skin and sweat and squeaking mattresses. He half-wonders if he should just tell her the truth (maybe it would be funny), but decides in favor of Sugar’s innocence in the end. Homicide and brutality are all well and good, but it’s plain irresponsible to expose a child to such crude things so early. 

“Something like that.” 

The retorting frown is skeptical, but also a little bemused. 

“Ugh, fine. But can I ask you a question first, Young Master? Before you go."

Doflamingo shrugs, hand already on the doorknob. "Sure, kid. What's on your mind?"

"…why is Mr. Wani opening a casino anyway? Didn’t you say he was looking for the One Piece?”

Doflamingo pauses mid-step. Unbidden, Loguetown appears in his mind’s eye, trickling in the summer heat. His memories have always seesawed between the faint and muddled to the vivid and hideous, but not that one. It is sharp with clarity, but as rich and fresh as sea wind, no matter what bitterness the present tries to tinge it with. He can see Crocodile’s face then, the same haughty, tantalizing confidence on a younger, scar-less face. The underlying awe and excitement in his eyes.

“Heh, now _that_ is a question for the ages, isn’t it?” Doflamingo says and flashes another grin as Sugar’s pout deepens. He saunters out before she can complain.

* * *

There is a faint, heady trace of tobacco in the air, left behind like a scent trail. Doflamingo skulks down the marble corridors as he follows it, winding deeper and deeper into the bowels of the casino. He’s not at all surprised by the secret lifts and stone-paved tunnels beneath the building. Rain Dinners is definitely a front for something else, though what exactly Doflamingo isn’t sure. 

Crocodile had never been interested in much scheming during the years prior to Roger’s death, but now it’s all he ever seems to do. Doflamingo smiles faintly as he rounds another corner. 

When he finally locates Crocodile’s office, it is a sprawling dimly-lit room, decorated in plush velvet and black metal furniture, framed by a massive underwater view of the moat outside.

Crocodile doesn’t even turn around when Doflamingo shuts the doors behind him. A mammoth bananawani swims by, casting darkness across the already shadowed space.

“You must have the world’s shittiest hearing,” Crocodile says, the cigar still glowing between his fingers, “I told you not to bother me.”

But he isn’t angry and his coat is already gone.

* * *

They’re on their fourth round about six hours later, the ambient silence is punctured by the sound of gasps and moans and slapping skin. Crocodile’s nails draw bloody grooves down Doflamingo’s muscled back, his pale throat bobbing against the knife of Doflamingo’s grin. 

The arm with the hook lays limp and outstretched, half-buried in the crumpled pile of their clothes. Contrary to that icy exterior, Crocodile’s insides are glossy and silk-soft, warm as sunlight on frozen bones. It takes so much time, lube and foreplay to loosen him up enough for Doflamingo’s girth that he treasures the sensation like a long-awaited prize. 

The whole scene is steeped in nostalgia and irony, from the hard, bruising surface under his knees to the aroused blush across Crocodile’s face as he splays out beneath him.

He hears the water slosh and glug beyond the thick glass as the bananawanis glide along.

“That’s the tenth time the one with the crooked tail has circled by. Do you remember having such an _engaged_ audience back in Loguetown too?”

Crocodile’s hips grind up more harshly than necessary into his own, while the muscular thighs twining the breadth of his waist squeeze like a vice.

“Are you seriously trying to start a fucking conversation right now?” he whispers, breath husky. Doflamingo chuckles, his own breath stuttering as he’s sucked in a bit deeper.

“I can’t help being taken down memory lane.”

“Don’t,” Crocodile’s voice is steel, something warped and black as hatred in its center, “The past is a meaningless place.”

Doflamingo chuckles. He would be the last to say contrary. Meaningless though it is however, he still never forgets his way to certain parts of it. He knows Crocodile doesn’t either. No one ever really manages to. Not if it had meant a modicum of a damn.

“You know Sugar thinks you’re very pretty.”

Crocodile just groans and thumps his skull against the floor.

“Doflamingo…”

“Well, not exactly in the manner of a magnolia or anything, but you get her gist. She’s a bit stunted.”

“I’d rather not discuss your prepubescent toy with your ten-foot dick up my ass.”

“Fufu, I’m just saying. It’s a compliment coming from her. She has high standards.”

“Hm. Won’t last long I’m sure, under your care.”

“How caustic,” Doflamingo smiles, wrapping his palm around the wrist of the hook, “Don’t you want to know what I think too?” 

“Do I ever?”

The glare is back, but it’s a low burn and it looks a little tired. Doflamingo reaches up with his other hand, cradling the side of his face. He sweeps a thumb across the long, jagged scar. Maybe he reveals something in his expression he hadn’t meant to, because Crocodile’s eyes suddenly flare with anger and he surges up, crushing his lips against Doflamingo’s.

He makes no pretenses that it’s for anything other than to shut him up, but it works anyway. Doflamingo succumbs to that captivating taste as he always has. As he always will.

Their tongues slip out, unsealing each other’s lips as Doflamingo starts thrusting again. They climax almost simultaneously, with a grunt and a gasp and a crackling wave across their vision. Doflamingo barely manages to pull out in time. Throbbing hot release pumps and glistens across both their torsos as Doflamingo gathers Crocodile to him, their chests rising and falling against each other. The haze of pleasure finally begins to make him drowsy and heavy-limbed, pressing on his eyelids like weights. 

Cool, dry fingers land on Doflamingo’s nape, grabbing a loose fistful of hair. 

“Hey, don’t fall asleep here.”

His shoulder is jostled, but Doflamingo only gives a lazy smile. 

“I think I’m gonna like this warlord gig,” he slurs, managing to roll off and onto his back before swiftly conking out.

* * *

He wakes an indeterminate time later still on the floor, feeling refreshed, but also a great deal stickier from sweat and spunk. His glasses are gone and his coat is draped over his bare chest and waist. A cushion has been tucked under his head. 

With a monstrous yawn, Doflamingo sits up, rolling his shoulders. He tugs on his pants from where they’re still dumped next to his legs and digs through his pockets until he finds where Crocodile has jammed his glasses. 

Then he heaves to his feet, slinging the coat over himself and not bothering with his shirt. 

“Croco?”

Doflamingo saunters through the vast office, nonchalantly opening doors as if he might find the other man lounging behind one of them. The shadows of the rippling tank still stretch over the room, but he can tell it’s getting dark outside by the columns of coral pink light tingeing the water. The bananawanis are gone.

Doflamingo scratches his head, before deciding to follow his nose again. While he personally tends to pass out after so many hard rounds of fucking (such was the life of the perpetually sleep-deprived), he knows Crocodile’s preference is a good long smoke. 

He still aimlessly wanders through the lower level for several minutes, before he comes across that familiar scent once more. It curls up a set of stairs, sloping elegantly into an outer deck with a hidden view of the moat. Gossamer curtains hang at the entrance, rustling in the desert breeze as grains of sand tumble against mortar and stone. 

Crocodile’s dark, sleek frame stands at the rail, his coat flowing about him like a living thing. Doflamingo’s eyes light up and he hurries forward, name on the tip of his tongue.

“Croco-ch—“

The voices, lofty and high-born, cut him off. Make him freeze. They drift in from somewhere beyond the moat, near the boardwalk or main entrance to the casino.

_…Sir Crocodile use to be one of them too. The Golden Age pirates looking for Roger’s treasure._

_I did hear something like that. He must have been at Loguetown that day. All the young sailors were. Strange that he’s a warlord now. I thought he’d at least still be on the seas, but here he is in Alabasta._

_It’s obvious why. He couldn’t make it through. Look at his face, at his hand. The Grand Line crushed the life out of him. I heard he ran into Whitebeard._

_Oh dear, what an unlucky boy._

_Hmph, he was arrogant, darling, and reaped what he sowed. If anything, he should’ve given up the dream sooner. Maybe then he’d still have his crew. Or at least saved himself the maiming._

_Ah…I suppose you’re right. It’s a pity though. I could tell he was quite a handsome man._

_The One Piece ruined him._

_He must regret it so._

Doflamingo doesn’t understand the strange twist and jerk in his chest, but he’s already walking forward anyway. He scatters his strings, hanging them across the water and is just about to give a very _explicit_ lesson on the _sins of errant gossip_ when a hand yanks him backwards with surprising force.

His back rams into the wall, creating several spidery cracks. The cold metal of the hook presses into his jugular. Crushes into it actually. Crocodile’s eyes glimmer like blades. His face contorts with something that is almost too dark to be fury.

“Don’t,” he says, softly and slowly, “Or I really will kill you.”

Doflamingo stares at him. A beat passes before he nods. Even he knows better than to push it then.

Crocodile releases him with a harsh, barely restrained shove. He brushes past with veins snarling across the back of his hand. Not another word or look is given, before he bursts into sand at the top of the stairs. 

Doflamingo watches him go.

* * *

**to be continued...**


	5. Loguetown, pt. 3

Crocodile leaves the city of Rainbase, drifting across the Alabastan desert in a cresting wave of sand. His heart seethes with such rage that it's splintered and gone a bit cold. The creatures of the desert avoid him. They've come to recognize his presence and have learned to steer clear. He kills anything and everything that hasn't yet. 

It's not satisfying though, the deaths of mere animals, and eventually Crocodile wanders into Yuba, a shriveled up town that's gone dry for days. The townspeople there laugh and smile. They're digging a hole for water in good cheer, reassuring each other that Yuba will always survive, as long as they never give up on it. They hold hands, they sing and dance and fucking picnic together and it's so sweet, so _nice_ and full of saccharine ideals. Crocodile sends Sables to bury the town again. He wonders how many times they'll want to dig the same hole. He imagines very suddenly that Doflamingo would've laughed at that, which annoys him more.

He winds up in the port city of Nanohana next, which smells of salt and not much else. He kills a nestled gang of bandits and a pirate crew that tries to get in his face. The people thank him profusely and call him a hero. They're relieved a warlord has been stationed in Alabasta and this amuses Crocodile a little, because they have no idea. He gets similar reactions in Ido and Tamarisk, and Crocodile cannot deny that it is bitterly funny—like they're building him up to this precarious height all on their own, where it will be twice as easy to bring down his foot when the time is ripe. 

Sunset bleeds out of the sky as Crocodile stands on Tamarisk's wharf. His anger is starting to recede, the sting of humiliation hardening into yet another layer of thick sediment. It's frustrating that he'd even let words piss him off to this degree anymore, especially since he's never actually cared what those wealthy bastards thought. Let them sail the Grand Line for as long as he had, search and bleed and lose everything like he had, then their mockery might hold some weight.

No, there's only one thing at the crux of it all, that Crocodile wishes had not happened. 

Seabirds fly over the dock, wings rustling overhead as they caw. His jaw twinges when he sees their white feathers drift down from the sky, twirling along in the rolling waves. He thinks he might have taken his anger out on the wrong person. He thinks he might have to apologize. He realizes this all very slowly, like feeling that first drop of rain on a perfectly clear day.

Ugh.

* * *

When he returns to Rain Dinners, Doflamingo's brat is wailing at the top of her lungs in the lobby, fountains streaming from her eyes. Several staff members are sweating and panicking over her, trying to ply her with toys and chocolates, while the guests stare on like a flock of curious pigeons.

"YOUNG MASTEEEEERRR! YOU SAID YOU'D BE BACK LATER AND NOW IT'S ALREADY D-DAAARK! YOUNG MASTER WHERE D-DID YOU GOOOOO?" 

"Sir!" The manager, Ultraking, nearly clutches his coat, looking on the edge of sobbing himself. "Sir, please do you know where your other guest is? His, uh...the child's been like this for over thirty minutes now!"

Ultraking goes on, but Crocodile doesn't process the rest of it. His mind is already listing out all the possible places Doflamingo could be, which is not many and limited to within the casino and resort. He doubts Doflamingo's so upset he's simply taken off, the bastard has admittedly thick skin, and at any rate Crocodile doesn't think he'd leave the girl behind when he spouts that family nonsense 24/7. Odds are he's just forgotten about her and is sulking somewhere alone over their fight.

Crocodile exhales through his nose. He pushes Ultraking aside while he's still in mid-sentence and walks over to the little turquoise mop. Sugar, he believes Doflamingo had called her. 

"Brat."

The screaming cuts off so abruptly it's like a switch has been pulled. The girl turns, tear-stained and red-faced, her eyes widening when she sees him.

"Mr. Wani?"

The room could have vibrated from how many jaws hit the floor then. Behind him, Crocodile can hear Ultraking's indignant sputtering repeat of the goddamn nickname and has to breathe out through his nose again. 

"Come with me," he says to Sugar, "You're going back to your room."

She blinks. "Are you _escorting_ me, Mr. Wani?"

"Considering no one else has an intact eardrum anymore or can walk in a straight line, yes, I suppose so," Crocodile says dryly, and holds out his hand, "Hurry up."

The girl beams, plucking a previously rejected candy bar from a shocked waitress's hand before skipping over. She takes his hand almost shyly and god, Crocodile decides to ignore the girlish blush spreading over her cheeks, as they depart.

* * *

"I'll go find the dumb bird," Crocodile informs her when they're back in her and Doflamingo's suite, though the brat looks hardly distraught anymore. 

She's been humming and eating grapes blithely, completely at peace now despite still not knowing where her precious "Young Master" is. It feels like the tantrum was more out of boredom than anything else, but Crocodile is not going to risk an encore. In a way, he supposes this is better, since he would've certainly procrastinated seeking out Doflamingo on his own. Even if he doesn't like the look she's giving him now, large and doe-eyed, with a disturbing shrewdness lingering beneath. 

"Okay," she chirps, "Say 'hi' to the bananawanis for me!" 

Whatever that means he doesn't bother to ask.

* * *

It takes him little time. Usually, Doflamingo enjoys wide-open places, somewhere up high--the preferences of an egomaniac maybe or a street urchin that hates feeling trapped. But this is far from their first altercation, nor one where Crocodile has stormed off afterwards and more often than not he finds Doflamingo sitting right where he'd left him. 

Crocodile almost sighs as he steps onto the hidden deck again, sliding past the gossamer curtains. Doflamingo is crouched on the stone railing with his shoulders hunched, staring down into the dark moat. 

"If you fall in, I'm not coming to rescue you," Crocodile murmurs. He feels more than sees the other man turn his gaze on him and then how quickly the surprise turns into giddy elation.

"Feeling better?" 

Instead of answering, Crocodile walks up to the rail, arms folding loosely over the top. 

"Were you going to just wait here the entire night? You're such a fool."

Doflamingo shrugs. There's a shallow cut across his throat and a purpling bruise shaped like that of a hook. Crocodile frowns and reaches over, skimming the wound with the tip of his thumb, much to Doflamingo's pleasure. He feels the other man's breath, feathery light on the back of his hand. "Don't mind waiting for you. Never have."

Somehow, the words make him seventeen again, softening the angles of his jaw and the harsh glint of his teeth. For a moment, Crocodile is peering into the face of the same hungry, lonely brat who had asked him not to leave. 

Crocodile's eyes harden. He lowers his hand. "Whatever you're expecting, I think you'll be disappointed." 

Doflamingo grabs his wrist. "What is it you think I'm expecting?" he asks, ignoring Crocodile's startled glare, "You'll have to be more clear." 

His grip is insistent, as implacable as steel and becomes childishly stubborn the more Crocodile glowers at him, until eventually the latter sighs and looks away. 

Crocodile's scar is throbbing. He can feel the sudden, impossible weight of the hook on his arm. He is tired and bitter and has finally forgotten the faces of his crew. The gossipers whisper about his regret, about the One Piece and how it had ruined him, but he is so far beyond mere regret. It cannot possibly be just regret--this heavy, lightless, all-encompassing feeling--which has shattered every piece of him that had ever been worth anything. 

"...I meant if you're still looking for that kid," he mutters, "That naive, idiotic one from Loguetown a million years ago. I know he asked you to wait. I know he said he'd come back. But I'm done with the pointless dreams and he's never coming back. So don't wait anymore."

The same cold, splintering sensation in his chest is back again. 

Doflamingo releases Crocodile's hand, stares at him, eyes unreadable behind his glasses. It must only be for a minute or two, but it feels like goddamn forever. 

"Look here," he says at last, suddenly enough that Crocodile does. Doflamingo’s fingers rise beneath the pale lunar light, bent at a degree where the strings glimmer and are vaguely distinguishable. A small slab of blood-red meat dangles at their ends and Crocodile's eyes widen slightly, because--

"You--" 

"Had to have something to do while I waited, yeah," Doflamingo says, chuckling, and waves at the plastic bag at their feet which Crocodile has somehow missed, "Heh, hope you don't mind, but I found these in the freezer in your office. No wonder you weren't answering Sugar's question earlier, this is fucking grisly." He curls his middle and pinky finger and the strings lift, pulling the meat with it. "Not exactly an oversized bird, now is it?" 

Crocodile shrugs, expression indifferent. "Meat is meat. Doesn't matter what it was before."

"Fufufu, such a practical attitude." Before Crocodile can ask what the hell he's doing, Doflamingo casts the strings down into the moat, letting the treat hang against the wall fifty feet or so shy of the water.

The reactions of the bananawanis are instantaneous, all of them exploding to the surface at the same time, hissing and clawing over each other like awakened dragons. They gather beneath the morsel, snapping their jaws desperately and Crocodile feels his heart crumple just a tad. They are his pets after all and he is a bit attached. 

"Bastard, what are you--" 

"The One Piece isn't real." Doflamingo crosses his legs, free hand resting on a knee, as though he's only made a casual observation about the weather. "Or if it is, it's not something that can be obtained or even found in the first place." 

Crocodile scowls, incredulous. He loathes to ask, but... 

"What do you mean?"

Surprisingly, the bird doesn't give him any shit for it.

"It's just a big illusion. Chasing Roger and his myth and the beauty of something forbidden. What is the One Piece anyway? A giant chest of endless gold? A key to the sea? No one knows. No one will ever know, because it's too grand a thought for reality to measure up to." Doflamingo flicks his wrist as one of the bananawanis decides to lunge, reeling the meat up and out of reach again. "So all those fools on the Grand Line now, they'll search and they'll paw and they'll die pointlessly, desiring that one elusive thing they'll never be able to have." 

He turns, idle smile drifting on his lips.

"But you're different, Croco. You won't let yourself be swallowed by an illusion or perish for the sake of a dream. You realized exactly how foolish it all was and made your way back. You woke up. It's shitty and painful, but you survived. How many who left that day can say the same?" 

Crocodile is silent, slightly affronted by the warmth pooling in his stomach. Two more bananawanis make a rabid leap for the treat, but Doflamingo doesn't even look this time. His free hand rises, resting against the side of Crocodile's face. He's so ridiculously tall that their eyes are almost level, even while he's seated on the rail.

"You don't know it. Maybe you'll never know it and it certainly won't feel that way, but...you really are better off now, wani-man." Doflamingo chuckles again, hollow as bone. "It's not so fun seeing things that aren't there. Take it from me."

And Crocodile kisses him. He's not sure how that happened, can't really explain it other than his body had decided to move on its own. He feels Doflamingo freeze against his lips, caught off guard for all of a second, before he's kissing back fiercely, fingers wrapping around his nape as if afraid he'll escape. Crocodile hears the threads break, the ecstatic roar of the gators as they scrabble through the water and begin fighting. Trust Doflamingo to ruin his own metaphor for the sake of tongue acrobatics. 

"You're so full of shit," Crocodile whispers when they finally part for air, "But...there have been worse pep talks."

"Fufu, every word is true." Doflamingo says, holding him tight, "I wasn't looking for anyone. I wasn't waiting. Why should I? You're already back. Nothing has changed."

"I think a few things have," Crocodile says, with his hook for a hand and his long, aching scar. Doflamingo just grins and even at thirty years old, it's with the same loopy awe, as if he finds Crocodile the most fascinating thing in the world, as if he never wants to let him go. 

"No," he says, "nothing."

* * *

Three days later, after Doflamingo has finished the trivial assignment he's been given and is off wrapping up a call with Sengoku, Sugar tugs on Crocodile's sleeve. 

"Young Master said you lied about the bananawani's favorite treat," she grumbles, "But he won't tell me what it actually is."

"And you think I will?" Crocodile scoffs, long unmoved by sullen pouting. "You're too squeamish, brat. I heard you threw up twice after getting a bad papercut."

"He told you that?" Sugar blushes as pink as her beloved young master's coat. Her mortification suggests grievous bodily injury will soon be committed upon Doflamingo's person. As amusing a sight that would be, Crocodile doubts his casino or his manager's nerves need another scene and smoothly changes the subject. 

"That night you were screaming for him in the lobby," he says, "You already knew where he was, didn't you?"

The little shit doesn't even bother to pretend. A strange, almost stern light gathers in her eyes.

"Yep. He came upstairs to check on me and explained what happened." She points a declarative finger at him. "You know I like you a lot, Mr. Wani. You're so pretty and cool and I never thought I'd get to see a real bananawani until I came here. I know Young Master isn't always a gentleman and that you were mad, but he was ready to wait there for you the entire night and I wasn't going to let you avoid him." 

Crocodile's gaze slides away. He should be annoyed for feeling chastised and maybe also a little impressed, but he supposes it's only fair. So he slips a hand into his pocket instead, pulling out the item he'd spent ten minutes looking for earlier in the morning.

"Don't call a full-grown man 'pretty,'" he says, "And here. Hold onto this. Give it to him once you're out of Alabasta." 

Sugar blinks, regarding the object with a tilted head. She does nod eventually though and takes the goggles from his hand. They are slim and worn, far too small now for Doflamingo to wear and smelling of every sea and sleepless night Crocodile has carried them through. Sugar holds them gently, smiling a little. 

"You know, Mr. Wani, I think in a way the Young Master does believe in One Piece. I think to him, it’s just always looked a bit different is all."

Crocodile arches a brow. "Different? How?"

But he never does hear her answer, as Doflamingo returns then, swinging Sugar onto his shoulders and bidding Crocodile farewell. His smirk is wry, a shadow of mischief in it that instantly riles Crocodile's suspicions. 

The kiss is sudden and quick however, before he can react. 

Crocodile is still blinking at the vanished heat on his lips when Doflamingo turns away, hurrying for the balcony like a bat out of hell and grinning manically the whole time. 

"Catch you at the meetings, Croco-chan," he calls and leaps into the sky. Sugar's giggles echo like a bell in their wake.

* * *

**fin.**


	6. HBD, asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gah, so much work piling up and shit to do, but I just had to get something out there for Fabulous Flamingo Day. Please enjoy and/or forgive this loving H/C-free tribute. 
> 
> Warning: Some implied underage sex

* * *

**Fifteen**

* * *

Crocodile bit back a sigh. His head knocked against the barrel he was sitting up against, shirt haphazardly yanked open and gathered around his elbows. Doflamingo had had no problem ripping _that_ off right away, but the further south he moved…

“Do you need help with the fucking buttons or something?”

“Shut up,” Doflamingo muttered, still waging war against the clasp of Crocodile’s trousers. 

He was blushing so hard, he nearly glowed in the dark. Crocodile sincerely hoped the Marines weren’t up to conducting another of their pointless raids of the wharf tonight. Brat’s face would probably signal them right over. 

“Why’re you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous. Shut up already.”

He near cut himself off as the lube fumbled out of his hand. Crocodile released the sigh this time, as he was then abandoned entirely, Doflamingo cursing and groping around for the bottle in the warehouse shadows. By the time he returned, Crocodile had simply divested of the trousers himself. He arched a brow at the way Doflamingo stiffened, and stretched his freed legs. They wrapped about Doflamingo’s waist languidly, knees draped against the lean, muscular dips of the brat’s torso. 

“Well?” He drew Doflamingo in, heels resting along the pillar of spine. “I’m waiting, kid.”

A choked noise slipped from Doflamingo’s throat. He was staring at the scarlet streaks of dusk along Crocodile’s chest, the colors having dripped from the skylights of the warehouse. He was weirdly, and yet positively shy. Crocodile’s impatience was starting to shift into puzzlement. He regarded the younger man with some thought.

“Not poppin’ a cherry here, are you?” 

It was only half a serious question. The brat’s libido wasn’t a secret, least of all to Crocodile. But it was fun to tease him. The incredulous glare Doflamingo’s face scrunched into was cute.

“Heh, relax, relax. I’m not referring to sex. Know all about your fantastical conquests, alright? No need for that face.” He ghosted a finger from the strong youthful jawline, crossing to the cupid bow of the full lips. “I meant with a man. This your first time?”

The face went positively incandescent. It didn’t matter at all what Doflamingo said then. Crocodile had his answer. 

“How old are you turning today? Fifteen?”

Doflamingo managed a nod. Crocodile hummed, considered for another moment, before letting his legs fall. “Alright, switch with me.”

Doflamingo’s brows went rocketing towards his hairline. Crocodile could see his eyes popping even with the shades in place. “Wha—” But Crocodile was already pressing him against the barrel, making him jump as a hand danced across his waistband. Kid was a fucking tent alright. Crocodile hooked his fingers in the elastic, shucking the capris off with deliberate ease.

“Only for tonight,” he warned, “Your birthday, your first time, tonight I’ll show you something good. Don’t think too much on it, understand?”

Doflamingo nodded again, slowly. There was comprehension dawning upon his face, something excited there and incredibly young. Crocodile lifted the bottle of lube, spinning it right-side up with one hand. The snap of the lid echoed between them like thunder.

* * *

****

**Twenty-three**

* * *

“Fuck.”

Crocodile licked his lips, resting his chin against Doflamingo’s stomach, with his stump folded beneath. The cock in his hand twitched, restless as he played with it idly. 

Doflamingo’s grin was stretched so wide the corners nearly touched his eyes. He loomed forward, throwing an ever-broadening shadow across Crocodile’s body. The rough palms of his hands reached out to hold either side of Crocodile’s face.

There was a cut on Doflamingo’s cheek still bleeding sluggishly. His tongue darted out, swiping across the broken skin. “Look at those eyes. You’ve become such a horrible person, Croco.”

He snorted coldly. “And look at you. Not a person at all anymore.”

Doflamingo snickered. “I did miss that mouth.” And then they were kissing hard. Lips smashing together with a force violent enough to bruise. Doflamingo’s tongue licked across his teeth with eagerness, spreading across the cavern of his mouth like fire. Like he was trying to consume Crocodile whole.

“Again,” he demanded when they finally separated, panting breaths intermingling in the piercingly clear night. 

Crocodile smeared a drop of blood off his upper lip. His eyes gleamed. “You’re insatiable,” he said, and waved pale fingers at the destruction around them. The village was only a razed field now of torn earth and bifurcated huts, bits of roof and pottery and metal glittering in the ghostly hush. He mused that a few of the villagers may still be around, hiding in the foliage, too afraid to even breathe. 

Doflamingo laughed, his obscenely white teeth curling into a smile. “Do you feel bad?” he mocked. 

Crocodile scoffed and didn’t respond. It just wasn’t a question.

“I’m the one who should be feeling bad, Croco. Geezer sent me on this shit mission today of all days. So thoughtless of him. I don’t deserve this, you know.” 

“If you can’t even say it with a straight face yourself, then don’t bother to begin with,” Crocodile snapped, “Spoiled brat.” 

“Fufufu, what’s wrong with spoiling me today?” Fingers slid along Crocodile’s biceps. “That’s why you tagged along, isn’t it?”

He scowled, always annoyed that Doflamingo presumed to understand him. “Maybe I came to knife you in your sleep.”

A quiet chuckle. “Kinky. But I don’t think so.” Crocodile twitched and opened his mouth, but Doflamingo drew him in before he could speak.

“Again.” Soft breath grazed the edge of his cheek. “Show me something good.”

They stared at each other. Crocodile’s eyes flickered for a beat. Once. Twice.

He sighed.

“Fine.” 

And without warning, he pushed Doflamingo flat onto his back and shoved inside without ceremony. There wasn’t much lube, just the remnants of his pre-come glistening along the tip. It had to fucking hurt, but Doflamingo’s gasps were raw with pleasure, back arching until his chest was flushed against Crocodile’s own. His moans stirred the dark as Crocodile drilled his prostate again and again. 

“I’ll rip you open,” Crocodile said, with a dead and sudden certainty. 

Doflamingo near shuddered beneath him. 

“ _God,_ please do.”

Then he started to giggle, a mad, monstrous sound which Crocodile ignored. His thrusts grew heavy and relentless as Doflamingo’s nails dragged across his skin, leaving blood-sticky grooves.

“Best fucking birthday.”

* * *

****

**Thirty-nine**

* * *

The sun is almost a quarter high. Crocodile leans against the jamb of the balcony, letting the rays stream into the chambers as he smokes his cigar. Dressrosa had a peculiar scent recently, a tint of honey and wine, as if the land itself had taken shape after its new master. Very obnoxious, Crocodile decides, casting a flat glance behind him.

In the bed, Doflamingo is finally beginning to rouse, eyes blinking open, as he lifts a hand to rub at his face. 

Crocodile flicks ash into the wind. “You took your time. I was wondering if Dressrosa was about to learn their king had slipped off into a coma.” 

“That’ll be your turf long before mine, old man,” Doflamingo fires at once, not even properly awake yet. 

Crocodile rolls his eyes. “Oh will it, _old man?”_

He slips from the balcony doors, heading to the ornate chair where their clothes had been left in a disarray. Doflamingo sits up, sheets sifting and crimping against his waist as he props his chin on a ring of knuckles. The grin he wears is lazy. 

“Now we both know that’s a lie.”

“One of us is lying, certainly.”

Doflamingo guffaws. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, stiff muscles unwinding. Crocodile hates to admit, but Doflamingo ages damn well. The movements are more precise, the approach more refined, but the bird at his core remains the same. Glitter and gold. Crocodile decides the thought needs terminating right around there. 

“I’m leaving," he says, "Go take a shower.”

It probably would've been better to switch the two sentences around, since Doflamingo clearly doesn’t hear past the second word.

“What? Why?”

Crocodile scoffs, finally yanking his coat free. “Well, I hate parties, people, parades and damn near everything else that’s going to happen here today.”

“But none of that's gonna start for hours.” Arms are suddenly over his shoulders, a weight against the top of his head. Crocodile doesn’t even flinch anymore. It must be one of the most logic-defying things in nature though—how silently this giant idiot can move.

“Don’t go yet,” Doflamingo says and the pout is near audible. Crocodile jabs an elbow into the ribs behind him. 

“Get off. You’re sweaty and disgusting. I said go shower.”

“Join me.” Within a second, the pout is gone, replaced by a croon. “My birthday right? We’ve got a tradition to uphold.” 

Crocodile cranes his head up, staring blankly into Doflamingo’s grin. 

“Who started this shitty tradition anyway?”

There's a chuckle. Doflamingo releases him and straightens to his full height. “Pretty sure it was you.”

“Now that’s a fucking lie,” Crocodile says, before sighing and grounding out his cigar. He doesn’t have to meet Daz till noon and though there are a thousand more productive things he could be doing in the interim…

“One more hour.”

He’s barely finished the sentence, before Doflamingo has snatched the coat out of his hand and near flung it across the room.

“It starts in the shower,” he wheedles, shoveling him towards the baths. 

Crocodile snorts. He lets himself be hustled along.

“It _started_ about ten seconds ago.”

* * *

**fin.**


	7. Keep a distance

His father was a merchant. His mother a ghost. 

It was an improbable thing to happen, death by childbirth, considering the care she'd received and the small fortune that was spent. His father blamed him. He never said so, but he did - always in a crevice of his heart. It was the hair and the eyes - oil black and gleaming amber. Rare were the times his father could speak to him or look upon him without regret and that was only when he could bring himself to do either at all. Ice and whiskey made up his father's choice of company. They killed him without fanfare at age thirty-five. 

_"Keep a distance,"_ he told Crocodile on his deathbed, _"Tread lightly. Don't ever love. It's really the only way a man survives."_

And that was all. No goodbyes, no apologies. Somehow, Crocodile summoned up tears for the funeral, even though they'd been virtual strangers on opposite ends of a chasm, with only that common thread of resentment running between. Obligation shaped into the semblance of grief. 

He was fourteen when he sold his father's estate, kept nothing but a taste for his cigars and the echo of his advice.

* * *

It was not such a belaboring task, keeping people at arm's length. If anything, Crocodile realized its productivity and convenience early on and became a natural. There was a freedom in detachment - that ability to pick up one day and leave without a trace, a certain weightlessness to not owe or be owed that he enjoyed. Consequently, he developed a strong penchant for what was cut and dry. 

Perhaps that's why he took to business so easily. Already crafty in his own right, Crocodile inherited the razor edge of his father's acumen and three times his ruthlessness. It wasn't long before he came into his own wealth, a prodigious talent at age eighteen, negotiating his way to the rarest of contraband, establishing rapports with the biggest and bloodiest of names.

There were many that attempted to get close, their reasons spanning all parts of the spectrum. He saw faces of greed, admiration, lust and loyalty. He turned them away, spurned them endlessly and cruelly and in time, they learned. Not even a dog came back for more kicks to the ribs.

He figured it was the bird in Doflamingo instead. 

"You need to stop following me," he said, taping another band-aid to the brat's newest array of scrapes and cuts. He did it every time, more for the sake of clean floors than concern, but he suspected Doflamingo couldn't have cared less for the motivation. For that matter, he had a feeling the brat kept coming all beaten to a pulp just to savor the attention he received. 

He was really unlike anyone Crocodile had ever met. Incessant, irritating. Relentless. He found Crocodile no matter where he went. Always, always. And each time, he brought some treasure to offer in hand. 

Today, it was a pocket watch, adorned in garnets and diamonds and a long silver chain. Crocodile turned it over in his hand. He would concede it was beautiful. There was an issue, however, in the customized inscription etched into the back, a personal ode to the owner's wife, which made it rather ridiculous in terms of a present.

He did wonder sometimes if Doflamingo simply shot the first well-dressed pedestrian he saw and rifled through their pockets until he found something. 

The lack of finesse certainly sounded likely. The edges of Doflamingo's grin faltered as Crocodile sighed. "Do you like it?" he asked, bouncing and eager, cheeks still plump with baby fat and barely level with Crocodile's torso. It made him smirk just a little. 

"Sure. Gonna fetch a good price." Perhaps it was cold of him, but Crocodile had never made a pretense of keeping Doflamingo's gifts. They were no different from the ones he received from other suitors, subordinates and business partners alike. 

In fact, the only real difference lay in the reaction. While others would rile and bristle in offence, Doflamingo merely shrugged, never minding in the least. The challenge of impressing Crocodile only seemed to excite him more.

"One day, I'm gonna bring you something so amazing, you'll have no choice but to keep it."

Crocodile snorted, flicking the child on the forehead. "I've already told you not to bring me stuff at all." 

"Why not?" Doflamingo pouted and rubbed his head. His cheeks were faintly pink. "I want to."

It was yet another ping-pong exchange and Crocodile sighed a second time. He didn't think he would ever get the kid to understand. Acceptance led to connection and Crocodile was a creature of habit. He had no reason to change.

Even if it was a little intriguing to watch Doflamingo try. 

"Such a stubborn brat."

"Heehee, wait and see, Croco-man. Wait and see."

* * *

**to be continued...**


	8. Tread lightly

As an adult, he was irreverent. Caustic and cautious all in one beat - lips sealed shut over secrets and cards close to the chest. He had not needed his father to tell him to look out for himself. God knew the man certainly hadn't. 

But the past was the past. Crocodile wished to waste no more of his life dwelling on that particular bitterness. Self-reliance was an inevitable truth of the world. Only idiots not long for it figured otherwise.

"Hey, Croco-bastard!"

Crocodile blinked tiredly as Doflamingo pried open the inn window. "Huh. You've grown again." 

What an understatement. The brat's growth spurt, if it could even be referred to as such, was the most absurd joke Crocodile had ever seen. Sixteen and now head-to-head with him, who had topped at eight feet. He had to scrunch down tight to crawl into the room and Crocodile's nose wrinkled at the rainwater dripping from him, the earthy smell of it upon his clothes.

"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?" Doflamingo demanded at once, soon as he's inside, "You were such a pain to find."

Crocodile kneaded his brow, slightly dizzy and wholly unprepared for combat. "Never said I planned on staying in North Blue forever and I don't recall needing your permission anyway."

Of course, the West Blue during its notorious monsoon season had not been the most desirable spot to relocate either. Crocodile had done it specifically to beat out competition and snag high-paying buyers along its circuit. He knew the countless weeks of rain would be murder on his health, but had underestimated the toll and decided to make the sacrifice anyway. Now it took far too much energy just to sit up a bit more as Doflamingo stormed forward, dwarfing the sofa and swallowing Crocodile in his shadow.

His expression was waspish, some heated retort on the tip of his tongue, before he seemed to take another look at him. 

"...What's wrong with you?"

Always with the tact. Crocodile sneered. "Well, you're in my territory again, _uninvited, unwanted--_ "

"Not that." Without warning, Doflamingo's damp fingers grazed across his cheek. "You look like shit."

The icy moisture from his skin shuddered through Crocodile's aching bones and he glared blearily at the other. He was aware the situation was precarious, that he was vulnerable and no match for Doflamingo in this state, but couldn't draw the strength for belligerence. "I'm not fond of the rain," he said, slapping the offending appendage away, "So don't touch me." 

Doflamingo looked as if he couldn't decide whether to be bemused or disappointed. Crocodile hoped he would take the hint for once and get out, but it was just asking for too much. 

"You're feverish." It was said with a hint of accusation.

"Observant of you."

"Why are you sitting here in the dark, smoking a million cigars instead of resting?"

"Why are you not fucking off to your own business?"

They glowered some more at each other, another minute passing, before Doflamingo suddenly backed down. He was starting to resemble a child who'd just lost his favorite plaything. 

"It's not fair. I came all this way," he said, almost a whine, "Stop being sick. It's boring."

"Then _get lost._ "

"Can you even stand?" Doflamingo said, ignoring him, "Is that why you're not in bed?" He was forming some idea in his head. As much as Crocodile hated to admit it, the bird had come around enough over the years that he was starting to recognize what certain faces implied. Still didn't manage to react fast enough though, when the bastard swooped down suddenly and got in his face. 

"Let me help you, Croco-chan." 

Crocodile startled, raw panic flooding his veins. The gun struck out from the folds of his coat like a snake head, the barrel clicking as it buried against Doflamingo's temple. 

Both of them froze. 

A frigid, weighty silence congealed in the room, punctuated only by the incessant drumming of the storm. 

Crocodile's eyes were wide and dagger-bright in the shadows. Doflamingo's arms were almost around his waist and the back of his knees. He was still wet, still uncomfortable to be around just by proximity and even though Crocodile had barely been jostled, his vision was swimming with nausea.

He could have let the tension drag on forever, if Doflamingo hadn't broken it first.

"I suppose this explains why you've been hunched here like an escaped mental patient." His hand rose, resting light over Crocodile's own, completely and insanely at ease, despite being an inch from having his head blown off. "Where are your men, Croco? Why are you here alone?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Crocodile rasped. Having his weaknesses broadcasted was the last thing he needed. "I sent them off." 

"How reckless of you. Who do you expect to protect you then, when you're in this state?"

Crocodile was silent, observing the oddly naive expression on Doflamingo's face. Whatever the brat's band of yes-men were teaching him, it clearly ran contrary to Crocodile's own education. Even now, Doflamingo still hadn't pushed the gun away, ever confident that the trigger would not be pulled. So expectant, despite how simple it was to twitch a finger...

With a weak scoff, Crocodile lowered the gun, letting it clatter onto the table. 

"No one can protect anyone, fool. You only have yourself."

He missed Doflamingo's reaction, because his body chose then to dissolve into a fit of coughing. Crocodile bowed over, gasping for breath between each rough hack that left his vision frayed at the edges. 

A large hand fell against his shoulder blade, the weight heavy and not particularly gentle. Fingers drew over his spine. They were damp and inquisitive, dragged the shiver from him like a note from a tuning fork and Crocodile growled, trying to shove them away.

"I told you..." he choked, "...not to touch me."

Doflamingo's voice was cool. "We're not finished yet." The arms returned to wrap around his waist and legs. Crocodile struggled, almost fell and spilled onto the chilled floor.

"Fucking bird bastard..."

"Always with the filthy mouth." The hands were immovable. Crocodile's lip curled, expression icy with fury. Doflamingo huffed when Crocodile's limbs began to soften, scattering into sand. "That ability is such a pain. Just where do you think you're going?"

He was expecting all sorts of futile and aggressive things from Doflamingo then, but a bear hug had not been one of them. 

Crocodile's eyes went wide, pupils shrinking to dots as his back was slammed into Doflamingo's granite wall of a chest. Rainwater beaded from the pink coat onto Crocodile's face, down his collarbone and across his overheated skin. His power fizzled out like a candle flame as long muscled arms came snaking around to trap him. 

It'd take only one hand to count the number of times they've physically touched, no hands at all to count the number of times Crocodile's been _hugged_ and now this-- _this oversized teenage birdshit was_ \--

 _"Get off me!"_ Crocodile roared and raised his fist, trying to clip Doflamingo across the face, "You _son of a whore,_ how dare you--"

Doflamingo blocked the strike, catching it by the wrist. With their difference in heft and current strength, he dragged Crocodile close easily, until his head rested against the curve of Doflamingo's throat. Hot breath whispered against Crocodile's forehead and the voice that spoke for once was unamused. "Watch who you're calling a whore."

"Let _go!_ " Crocodile said, barely processing the words and still trying to pull his wrists free, "I swear if you don't let go, I'll--"

He trailed off with a gasp as a sudden wave of light-headedness struck him. Everything went off kilter in his vision, colors exploding and he found himself suddenly listing sideways. If it weren't for the cage of Doflamingo's arms, he would've certainly fallen over.

"Croco?" Large hands took his shoulders and turned him around, shaking him in the way an infant shook a broken toy. "Croco, what the hell?" 

Crocodile groaned, consciousness fumbling for purchase as he waited for the splotches in his vision to fade. For longer than he cared to admit, he could only hang in Doflamingo's arms like a rag doll, wheezing and coughing weakly. Doflamingo tilted his head, pulling him closer to perhaps peer into his face. The strange alarm in his expression made him seem childish and alien. Everything kept lazily spinning.

"You really do look like shit." 

The hand left his shoulder to reach for his forehead. Crocodile winced at the touch, which felt even colder than before, freezing really. It took several blinks before he could reorient himself enough that the walls stopped flickering and his sight almost realigned. Doflamingo's troubled look spread into a grin. 

"There you are," he crooned and pulled Crocodile in again, more careful than before, "Come on, just relax." He seemed to be getting a real kick out of touching him and curled around his body insistently. 

Crocodile felt too drained to do anything but let him, head falling back against his shoulder for a moment. Despite the unpleasant wetness of his coat, Doflamingo's center burned like the heart of a volcano. The heat caressed him and cocooned him. Maybe if he was at full capacity, he would've found it suffocating, but at the moment it felt...nice, soaking in the warmth of another human being (or whatever Doflamingo was suppose to be). Comforting. 

Crocodile's eyes had almost begun to droop before he realized what the hell he was doing. 

Shit.

Doflamingo made a muffled sound of displeasure as Crocodile began struggling anew, shaky fingers scrabbling over Doflamingo's arms.

"Stop it already," he murmured, grabbing the slender hands and enveloping them in his, tightening his grip as Crocodile started coughing again from the exertion. "What's the matter with you?"

"Just...go away, Doflamingo," Crocodile rasped, "Leave me alone."

"I can't do that," came the instant dismissal, borderline flippant, "You'll keep overtaxing yourself and die."

Crocodile sighed. He felt exhausted and every inch of him ached. The dizziness still hadn't left him and he was afraid he was going to pass out soon. "What do you care?" he whispered. 

Silence reigned for a beat. 

"What do you have against me helping you?" Doflamingo said, meeting question for question, and in a voice that was...almost wounded, "Is my company really so unbearable?"

Crocodile turned. At the angle he was being held however, he could see only the shadowy outline of Doflamingo's hair and the ruffles of his coat. The storm seemed louder somehow. Droplets splattered through the window Doflamingo had left slightly ajar. 

"I don't accept help from anyone. Things are simply easier that way," Crocodile said, and after another pause, added, "It's not about you."

Doflamingo didn't reply. Crocodile supposed he wouldn't have known what he was thinking even with proper lighting anyway, since the shades would've still obstructed him. Eventually though, his hands were released, as Doflamingo reached up to cradle his face. Crocodile should've used this new maneuverability to push his way free, but only ended up sitting right where he was, blank and frozen. 

"Yet you want me here," Doflamingo said, with absolute confidence, "We were even about to start cuddling."

That startled a snort out of him. "You're delusional."

The hand slid down along Crocodile's temple, pass the corner of his mouth to settle under his chin. 

"Hmm," Doflamingo whispered, "Probably."

Then he was kissing him. 

Crocodile's eyes flung open as Doflamingo's lips met his, even as he was already registering somewhere in his mind how full and warm they were. A long tongue flicked out and threaded across the seam of his mouth, slipping inside with ease and making itself at home. It was the most presumptuous, violating, shocking thing Doflamingo had ever done and Crocodile really should've grabbed the bastard by the face then, should've sucked every living drop of moisture out of the fool and left him a mummified husk. 

Instead, at some point he'd never be able to identify, Crocodile started to kiss back. 

A hand found its way into Doflamingo's hair, gripping a fistful of the locks. Their breath intermingled, hot and heavy. When they finally separated, both their chests were heaving and Crocodile couldn't even process if he was more aroused or pissed off. His cock at least had begun twitching in interest, raised to half-mast, which meant Doflamingo was _definitely_ at full. Crocodile doubted he'd be doing anything if they attempted sex then though, aside from fainting. Perhaps Doflamingo figured the same, because he didn't force the issue.

All he did was cup Crocodile's face and say, "Please. One more time." 

Crocodile would chalk up his agreement to shock. 

They kissed until the blood pulsed in his temples and his vision began to gray out. With obvious reluctance, Doflamingo parted from him, even though he was panting slightly himself. His face still wasn't visible, half-cloaked in shadows as it was, and Crocodile supposed that was a good thing, because it meant Doflamingo couldn't see his face either. 

"Let go of me already," he breathed.

"No," Doflamingo breathed back, and wrapped an arm around his waist and lifted him up. 

It was so sudden and with such speed, Crocodile finally lost his hold on consciousness and blacked out. His last sight was of Doflamingo's mouth, revealed in the pale flash of arriving lightning, curved in the traces of a smile. 

Crocodile tried to curse him out.

* * *

When he woke again hours later, it was in bed with a soft rag over his brow. He heard the rain outside, continuing its racket against the pane, now shut. Doflamingo had taken his place on the sofa some distance away, long legs crossed and feet propped on the table. Blue wisps dragged off his cigarette and wandered along the newly lamp-lit walls. The page of a book turned in the stillness. 

Crocodile stared at the ceiling for a long, long beat. 

"Brought you another pocket watch," Doflamingo said, without looking at him, "Gold this time. Emeralds. No stupid inscription."

Crocodile said nothing. He closed his eyes again.

* * *

He did accept the watch though and held onto it for a long time. 

Long after he'd departed the West Blue and traversed the Grand Line again, long after the Donquixote name had begun to spread in its infamy and blood. It was unlike him. He never wore the thing, never used it and because of this lack of practicality, he eventually couldn't remember why he kept it. 

Crocodile, it seemed, still had no reason to change. 

So when the Pirate King's execution rolled around and the rumors of One Piece ghosted the streets, Crocodile took the watch to one of his buyers and washed his hands of it forever. 

It fetched, at least, a damn good price.

* * *

**to be continued...**


	9. Don't ever love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains references to the "Loguetown" chapters. Basically, Crocodile made a promise of sorts to come back to Doflamingo when he returned from the search for One Piece. He did not keep said promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, I recently realized I missed Croco's birthday by almost a month T-T 
> 
> To assuage my guilt, please enjoy this incredibly late and (sorta) unrelated dedication.

Crocodile returned from the Grand Line without a crew. Without a hand. And certainly without the One Piece. 

There's something poetic in the whole venture, rendered incomplete by the search for completion. Maybe there's a bigger message tied up in all of it, maybe it's meant to be instructive, but Crocodile had never lost everything for nothing before and he's not in the mood for fucking lessons.

The Hawk Eye waited for him on shore. It was probably one of the only sights left that still gave Crocodile pause, because this was a nobody's port in a struggling town on a remote island, and the last he'd heard, Mihawk had more or less vanished into the gloom of Kuraigana. Yet here he was now, arms crossed, granite black sword strapped to his back, unchanged over the course of years, as time never seemed to touch the man.

"It's been a while," he said, regarding Crocodile in the way he always had during their handful of previous encounters--a keen glint of assessment in the eyes, a lazy observance, coupled strangely by immeasurable boredom. 

Crocodile grunted.

"Nice mustache," he said and walked past, coat furling out in the damp breeze. Whatever reason Mihawk was here, he didn't have time for. First priority was lodging for the next week, the more obscure the better, and the second was cash. The remains of his wealth were split between being stashed back in the blues, or resting somewhere at the frigid bottoms of the Grand Line. He was as penniless as his father at the end and that was one pill he didn't think he could swallow without choking on. Jet-black spikes of panic threatened to rouse in his chest again and Crocodile shoved them down. He could survive this. He would. No one was going to get the satisfaction of watching him fold up and collapse. He'd started with nothing before, he could do it again and he wouldn't be such a fucking dewy-eyed fool about it this time either.

"You have suffered," a voice suddenly spoke from next to him, as Mihawk took to his stride (not the easiest thing given he still only reached Crocodile's shoulder) and followed him down the fish-reeking pier. "I heard about your crew." 

Crocodile exhaled through his nose. He ached for a cigar. "Mind your own business."

As if he were actually acquiescing, Mihawk went silent for several seconds, unknown wheels turning behind his razor eyes. Crocodile stormed forward with white-jawed resolution. 

"There's something I've come to discuss."

"Not interested."

"You haven't even heard what it is."

"Don't care." He gritted his teeth against a spurt of pain from his arm. "I've got no time to chat."

"Then I fear you'll have to make some."

Mihawk must've known he was going to spin around, because he was suddenly standing beyond arm's length, mindful of the distance between himself and Crocodile's right hand. Ice flecked the rims of Crocodile's eyes. He tolerated Mihawk more than most and could even say he liked him, but if it was truly a goddamn confrontation he wanted then--

"Relax." Mihawk folded his hands behind his back. "I'd rather not fight."

"Then what the hell do you want?"

"Merely to deliver a message."

"Oh? You're an errand boy now?"

He didn't know why he said that. Crocodile had his pride and he'd bring Hell if someone asked for it, but he wasn't out of touch with reality. Goading Mihawk in his current state could've only ended poorly for him. In hindsight, he supposed a part of himself had wanted a fight. Anything else to fixate on that wasn't the weight of his own ruin. 

But birds weren't known particularly for the hotness of their blood. 

"I do suppose it could be referred to as such, yes."

They stared at each other again until Mihawk waved a hand towards town. 

"Come. I'll procure you a room at the inn. You'll think more clearly after some decent sleep and a meal. Your hand also requires attention. I would not put it off much longer."

He flinched and just resisted the urge to try and shield the limb, the empty sleeve fluttering like a tattered flag. The stump didn't hurt with the unholy agony of a thousand hells anymore, but it was beginning to burn and he knew it needed cleaning soon before infection could settle in. Still, the principle of the matter had him sneering.

"I don't need your charity."

"I don't believe in charity anyway," Mihawk said, "I was instructed to obtain you accommodations. You can think of it as an advance."

"On what? Start making sense."

"The offer."

"What offer?"

And Mihawk just shrugged at him, the perfect end to a beyond useless exchange and brushed past, climbing the wet steps into town. Crocodile watched the back of his head, ignoring the unspoken beckon to follow until Mihawk was a black and red dot in the foggy drifts of sailors and citizens. 

Then, with narrowed eyes, he stalked after him.

* * *

A warlord.

Crocodile laughed. 

"So the hawk plays a dog these days?" 

Mihawk set his massive scabbard on the table, folded down in a chair with legs crossed. "Call it what you will. It's been an acceptable experience so far as I'm concerned. The Marines are less of a nuisance, the pay will last you several lifetimes and you keep doing as you please." 

"'cept when that leash gets tugged."

Mihawk shrugged. "I have the free time."

"Yeah, well I don't," Crocodile slammed down the whisky bottle he'd essentially commandeered, "You tell your shithead employers they can cross me off the list."

A sound almost resembling a sigh escaped Mihawk. From the folds of his trench coat, he produced a bottle of wine, uncorked it coolly and slid over one of the glasses Crocodile had opted to pass on. 

"You're acting a fool," he said, pouring himself a generous serving, "And if you think the New World will bide its time while you lick your wounds, then you've clearly gone delusional too."

"I told you to back off, Mihawk."

"The seas have changed with Roger gone. And you're bleeding into a wave of sharks. Considering how much you've amassed, I'm amazed no one's tried to end you already."

Crocodile glared, but said nothing. He was a little amazed himself, even if he'd clawed his way from the Grand Line with a hound's persistence, stowed to this island on a rat's paranoia. Left it all behind in the black depths. Everything. Everyone. 

Mihawk sipped his wine and said, "I can imagine the difficulty of relearning how to be alone."

He did not sound sorry, or like he was imagining anything. It wasn't meant as an offense but Crocodile bristled anyway, clenching the neck of the bottle until there was an audible 'crack.' It echoed and echoed and Mihawk continued as if it hadn't.

"In any case, your presence won't be ignored now. News on your crew has been circulating the Grand Line. There's hunger everywhere these days for territory. If you hope to survive this time, you'll need something more. Even I can tell you that," he said, and set his drained glass down, rose from his chair to head to the table, where his oddly bulky pack slumped. He snapped open the clasps one by one. 

Crocodile glared daggers into his back. The skin around his jaw was taut and nearly white and the stump of his left hand twinged erratically. It was only the ache of a phantom limb now, after Mihawk had swabbed the entire area thrice with antibiotics and bound it so tight it was practically a tourniquet. Crocodile tried picturing for a moment what he must look like to him. Tired-creased eyes shadowed in bruises, paper thin skin welted and swaddled in gauze, his hair lank around his ears. Broken and defeated. Alone.

Must be why they were finally here for him. Eager to cinch on the collar at last while he lay prone. And the longer he sat here, the deeper it sunk in and the more he realized Mihawk was right, that he didn't have a prayer of a chance otherwise. Crocodile's chest iced and creaked with anger. Desperation. He was beyond sick to death of the feeling, how familiar it had become to him. 

_(He'd never really had anything in truth, had he? Except his will. His freedom. And now...)_

"If they think they'll control me then--"

"But they will."

Mihawk finally slid out whatever he'd been rummaging for in his bag and raised it up against the inn's sickly light. Crocodile couldn't even process what it was for a moment, so unreal it appeared, making even Mihawk's considerable hands puny in comparison. It was offered to him without ceremony, straps and buckles hanging loose like dead vines. The hook was of solid gold, glinting in the amber pools of Crocodile's eyes. He had never seen a thing so cruel and without mercy. 

"Survival's only an exchange," Mihawk said, "Doesn't have to be a fair one." 

He blinked slowly, something of condolence flickering amongst indifference. 

"I suppose you'd know better than anybody."

* * *

Sengoku's expression was carefully blank when Crocodile found himself in Mariejois a month later. Fucking geezer. Crocodile honestly thought he'd have died a thousand times over before stepping foot into this sickening place, or at least be trussed in chains and on his way to the chopping block. Not like this. On his own two legs. Submitting. Surrendering what remained like a pathetic dog.

Sengoku looked at his face, his hand. The scar. The hook. "Come," was all that was said. 

He sat through a meeting with the other warlords, a couple of surprising faces he'd encountered once or twice before in the rhythm of the seas (the jeering bastard Moriah was there, and Kuma, still mammoth-sized and vacant-eyed). Mihawk didn't even attend. It was all pretense and drivel and bullshit. Some of the junior marines kept staring at him. A vice admiral made a glib comment about his hand, his choices, and Sengoku silenced him with a reprimand that failed in every way to hide its pity. Crocodile breathed and resisted the urge to drown all of Mariejois in the dark and airless sands.

* * *

They sent him on missions, smoking out rookie pirate crews like hares from a den around the Saobody Archipelago. In those first months, he killed more people than he ever had in his life. The irony was ugly to behold and yet he still couldn't bring himself to care. He felt withered inside, as desiccated and crumbling apart as old ruins.

"I'm gonna make you pay!" one especially fiery captain said, blood and tears and snot-stained, his crew mummified in a gnarled circle around him, "You fucking monster! You killed them!"

Crocodile stared. The sand spread, swirling and dancing around his legs. His hand, loose at his side, lifted.

"They're dead because of you," he said, "And only you. Don't get it confused."

And then he turned his hand, palm skyward, where the sand also rose. And then the captain was dead too. 

Crocodile lit his cigar as the bullet holes in his chest and torso re-filled, the shellings pushed out and dropped to the ground in scattered handfuls. Heavy, acrid smoke spilled into his lungs and he ignored the eyes drilling into the back of his head for almost a full minute, before he jammed his hand into his pocket and spat, _"What?"_

"Hm?" Mihawk was crouched on the rim of a collapsed parapet, sliding a rag down the chiseled surface of his sword. It came away a vibrant, sticky red. Barely glancing at it, Mihawk dropped the rag and leaped from his perch, landing with muted grace onto the sand.

"You've developed a temper," he said blandly, stopping within ten feet of him, where the captain's newly-made corpse lay strewn and browned between them.

Crocodile sneered. "Here to judge?"

"Hardly."

Mihawk crossed his arms, unfettered. "You're simply the person you were meant to be," he said, "Whatever horrors that entails." 

And the surrounding desert, with all its shriveled corpses, reflected back at Crocodile from his gaze.

* * *

"You spent a lot of time in the North Blue."

Crocodile impaled a beetle that was scuttling near his arm, dragging a nice long scratch down the shiny conference table. The hairy legs squirmed and twitched, each one wriggling at a different angle. It'd been half a year. He was growing quite adept with the hook. 

"...So? I had an enterprise to run. Spent a lot of time everywhere." 

"We tracked all your business dealings. You had a pattern, remaining approximately five and a half to ten months in each spot before moving onward in a perpendicular route."

He scoffed. 

"Well, gold stars for you then. Is there a point or--"

"What kept you there?" Sengoku said, "You stayed in the other blues for a matter of months. You were in North for six years."

Crocodile finally lifted his gaze, meeting the old man's scrutiny with a glimpse of impatience. What kept him there? Stupid reasons really. Got caught up in something annoying and loud and persistent beyond comprehension. He had wanted, maybe just slightly, to watch it grow.

More shit from the past he couldn't reconcile.

"It had a decent market," he said in the end, curtly, "Nothing more."

* * *

He did not go back.

It was not that he'd forgotten. On the contrary, the problem with Crocodile in the first place was that he never forgot anything. Not truly. No matter how much he wanted to sometimes. 

The leather chair groaned as he leaned over, elbows on knees and the goggles resting in the nest of his palm. The teal band was worn and faded to moss, the lens dull and scratched. He drew a pensive thumb over the glass, his tired eyes shadowed beneath the glow of the fireplace. 

How old would the brat be now? Twenty-two at least. He was probably a giant. Still off in the North Blue somewhere, milking it dry of all its blood and coin. Crocodile had heard the rumors, found himself even scanning the papers occasionally for news or updates. As if it mattered still. Like the kid could honestly still be waiting, even if Crocodile had promised that... 

He scowled, tossing the goggles back onto the polished table.

It was fucking pointless. Doflamingo would want to see the person he'd been when he'd left and _that_ fool was long gone. 

Long dead.

He did not go back.

* * *

And so Doflamingo came to him.

Of course he did. 

The years had made Crocodile forget how much of an exercise in futility it was to avoid him. 

He'd been sent to vindicate a West Blue village of a gang of Whitebeard deserters. It amazed Crocodile that they could, in one breath, crow about independence and then in the next, shout the geezer's name at him like a ward against black magic.

"He'll end you," they warned, "For what you did. H-He'll--you won't be the same when he's through."

It was amusing, in a strange and sudden way. Crocodile smirked, ice blossoming through his heart as the hook rose in the muggy heat. 

"I don't suppose I am."

A splash of blood got on him this time, along the cuff of his left wrist right at the stump. Crocodile was more annoyed and needled by it than he ever remembered being about anything. He took a detour back to his inn through the adjoining kingdom, hoping to calm his agitation, and eager to dodge the grateful villagers with their fruit baskets and requests to shake his hand. 

Some celebration was being held in the kingdom's plaza and rainbow confetti and streamers hung from every available surface. The air smelled of pies and liquor and flowers and vomit. Barrels were being stacked, trumpets and tubas blaring. Bright-eyed children chased each other through the crowds, or sat on their father's shoulders dripping ice cream into their hair. 

Crocodile sighed when Mihawk suddenly materialized beside him, holding a caramel apple the size of a beach ball. 

"You really don't have anything better to do these days."

"I merely enjoy the occasional confectionery," Mihawk said, taking an unabashed bite, before peering at Crocodile with faint bemusement, "Where are you going?"

"Where do you think," Crocodile snapped. He wanted a smoke and a drink. The myriad of colors and sounds were making his head hurt. Mihawk shrugged. 

"I'm sure I'm about to find out."

And before that could make any sense to Crocodile, they had rounded the corner, out of the plaza and onto a narrow alley between apartments, where the sun filtered down among a crosswork of wash-lines and hanging foliage. Somewhere between the ninth and tenth step, Mihawk vanished. Not that Crocodile noticed in the slightest.

Because Doflamingo was indeed taller. 

Unbelievably so. 

Fucking enormous.

The giggling flaxen-haired boy he was throwing into the air was almost level with the third-storey windows. The white curve of his teeth spread with the infant's squeals of delight, and a woman in a skin-hugging sequin dress tittered next to them, mouth hidden behind a hand of painted nails. For an absurdly blank second, Crocodile thought he was actually looking at Doflamingo's wife and child. It was a second too long. 

The child was hurled up once. Twice. 

And then Doflamingo saw him.

The woman had to dive to catch the baby as he plummeted straight through Doflamingo's frozen hands. "Dellinger!" she fretted, and rotated the obliviously cheerful bundle every which way for injuries, "Oh, Young Master, why did you--"

She squawked on, but Doflamingo didn't seem to hear a word. His stare at Crocodile was completely naked with astonishment, features slack, jaw dropped open like an idiot. If it were another time, Crocodile might've thought it cute, probably laughed.

But it wasn't and so he did the sole thing then that came to mind. 

Doflamingo, who'd always had an adeptness for reading the future right off a person's face, sprang at him, stepping over the woman and child as if they were cracks in a sidewalk.

"No," his hand stretched out, broad and grasping, "Don't--" 

He closed a fist around sand.

* * *

Crocodile did not reform until he was back at the inn, and didn't solidify completely until he was standing in the middle of his over-priced room. Somehow, Mihawk had already found his way in, chair leaned at a precarious angle and his boots propped on the table. The caramel apple had been replaced by a giant stick of cotton candy, which he examined with displeasure.

"You got sand in it," he said, "How wasteful. You will pay me back the thirteen beris."

Crocodile ignored him, eyes staring sightlessly into space as his heart gained speed. He didn't understand the tangled knot of feelings in his chest, a place where nothing had lived for almost a year. Strands of apprehension and shame and weird embarrassment coiled together into vile little bows. It unnerved him more than he thought it should. What the hell was Doflamingo doing here in the first place? 

"Crocodile?" Mihawk said, head tilted.

When no response came, his gaze slid to the open window, at the white columns of clouds and the ocean which flattened into a glittering distance.

"Hm," he said suddenly, "kid's a lot faster than he use to be." 

And without another moment's pause Mihawk stood, sword in one hand and cotton candy in the other and proceeded from the room. Crocodile didn't register his words until the door had already clicked shut after him.

Until Doflamingo's overgrown shadow was flowing across the window pane. With wide eyes, Crocodile spun around, just as Doflamingo grabbed for his sleeve, half-scrabbling through the opening. It was a fairly wide gap, enough for even a larger man to slip through without problem, though Doflamingo still only managed to jam half a shoulder and his head inside, the force of which sent cracks spidering across the navy wallpaper. Hard fingers caught onto Crocodile's blood-stained cuff, wrapping around his wrist like a constricting snake. 

"Wait," Doflamingo said, "Shit, is it really--"

 _"Let go!"_ Crocodile said, because he could just tell Doflamingo's eyes were raking over his scar, over his hook and it scared him how much that scared him. He didn't think to even use his power, blindly reaching out to shove Doflamingo away with his right hand instead. As hard as he could. 

Realizing only a split second later that there was nothing beneath but a direct pitch into the sea. 

And that Doflamingo's grip had been tight enough Crocodile went flying out with him.

The world evaporated beneath his feet. For that instant they were airborne, Crocodile's heart rocketed straight into his throat. He heard Doflamingo swear a hissing blue streak. Or perhaps that had been himself. He couldn't hold onto any thought for more than a millisecond, all of them springing forth in his head like poprocks. 

Neither of them could swim. They'd both eaten Devil Fruits. They were going to drown. 

Arms wove across his back, over his spine, wide and thick as branches. "Hold still," a voice commanded.

There was a 'whoosh,' as if something needle-thin had gone spearing through the air. Doflamingo's legs bent, nearly crushed Crocodile against his chest. They stopped falling very suddenly. Doflamingo couldn't have weighed anything less than a quarter of a ton and yet there wasn't even a dip. 

Crocodile blinked, eyes sliding down to the spuming waters beneath Doflamingo's pointed shoes. What the _fuck?_

A hand glided beneath his chin and raised his head. Doflamingo's glasses had slid down his nose and at Crocodile's angle, the white-blue of his right eye was on full display. It was owlishly big, getting wider by the second. The sun-rays streamed past his head, made his thick blonde hair glow and shattered into fractals of light against the hoop earrings swinging from his lobes. He'd grown tan and even more muscular than Crocodile remembered, the vestiges of a childhood lankiness finally gone. 

And he wasn't really a brat anymore, as incomprehensible as that was. 

Almost as bullshit as the blush trying to surge over Crocodile's skin. He tamped it down with effort. There were more pressing issues at hand.

"You can fly now?" he blurted. 

The bluntness startled the vague expression off of Doflamingo's face. His lips curled at the edges and then he laughed, a deep heavy sound that Crocodile could almost feel vibrating from his diaphragm. The hand along his shoulder-blade clenched, dragging up a fistful of Crocodile's waistcoat like a clingy child. 

"It _is_ you."

* * *

Doflamingo had reached new planes of creativity with his strings. Crocodile supposed he was a little impressed. Even if it was beyond irritating that the bastard used them to keep him stranded in the air and practically in his lap.

His arms were still snaked around Crocodile's waist, half-keeping him from falling and half just to touch him. He hadn't lost his penchant for gab and had yet to take a breath from his long whining rant about how mean and inconsiderate Crocodile had been, not visiting him or writing to him, it'd been over five years, how unfair you're such a jackass...

There was no mention of his crew, though Crocodile knew perfectly well how avidly Doflamingo consumed the news. Or even a reference to his scars or hand. As someone who was gaining prominence down under as an information broker, Crocodile would've thought Doflamingo'd be flooding him with questions in that regard. Yet the only thing he seemed interested in was finding out why Crocodile hadn't returned like he'd promised to.

"Did you think I'd forget?" he said, and the breeze ruffled his giant pink coat, spilled feathers over Crocodile's thighs. It smelled of honey and wine, as it always had when it didn't of blood. Doflamingo was literally pouting and Crocodile took back all his previous observations, because brats were brats, no matter how easy on the eyes they became.

"No," he said, with a sigh, "That's not what I thought." 

But he didn't speak further or offer explanations. He wasn't at the point yet where he could articulate how changed he felt. As if everything before had been some irrational illusion, one he couldn't understand how he'd actually believed. And maybe he'd been ready for something then that he wasn't ready for anymore. 

"Why then?" Doflamingo prodded, mouth pressed in a quizzical line. He readjusted his hold to Crocodile's sleeve.

The visible eye blinked at him and reminded Crocodile again of why Doflamingo preferred to hide them behind shades. For if there really were such things as windows into the soul, then Doflamingo had a goddamn skylight. 

He could've unraveled every thought in the kid's head then just by staring into that eye--the excitement and hunger, the genuine and honest-to-god confusion. Who knew how long they could've just hovered there over the billowing waves, if not for the eventual shouts of the marines. 

Doflamingo's head flicked up as Crocodile glanced over his shoulder. They heard boots on the inn stairs, the creaks traveling through the open pane. 

"So it's true," Doflamingo murmured, peering down at him, "I'd heard rumors about a new warlord."

His grip didn't loosen though. He made no move to return to land and Crocodile sighed for a second time and reached forward, pushing the glasses until they were planted firmly onto Doflamingo's face again. 

"Come on, brat, before you get yourself caught." 

The frown was of utter reluctance. But as the footsteps drew nearer, Doflamingo sullenly relented, gliding down to the base of the headland in which the hotel sat upon. He set Crocodile on his feet, held onto his sleeve for a beat longer.

"Will you come see me? Or call at least?"

His smile was jagged, ravenous but also faintly brittle at the edges. "Just for fun," he added, before Crocodile could reply, "Think about it." 

The hand released him. Doflamingo vaulted back into the sky without ever letting Crocodile a word in edgewise. 

Left him standing there blankly, watching until the rapidly diminishing pink dot finally vanished into the clouds. A print of heat had been left across his stump.

* * *

"This is also for you," Mihawk said later, as Crocodile smoked his tenth cigar down to a stub and read the same line in the paper over and over again. He extracted a silken black pouch from his pocket, tossing it to Crocodile, whose brow arched at the golden ring that'd been tucked inside. It had such shine and polish that Crocodile could catch the tired lines of his own face in the reflection. A large sapphire gemstone was the featured centerpiece, gleaming up at him through its solid, ornate mounting.

He blinked at it and then at Mihawk. 

"...You ought to buy me dinner first."

"That's what I said," Mihawk folded his arms behind his head, "but Doflamingo seems to think you're already past that." 

Crocodile choked on his own spit.

"What? You know each other?"

"The kid?" Mihawk said, and it was entirely too stoic for someone who'd just finished off a banana-nut funnel cake with sprinkles. "Yes. How do you think he knew which hotel you were staying at."

Bastard didn't even frame it like a question. Crocodile pinched between his brows. 

"What the hell's wrong with you?"

Mihawk lowered his hat over his face with the same unerringly bored expression.

"I thought it'd be funny. Never realized he was so smitten." 

The paper ripped as his hook jabbed through the front page, a gaping hole across Vice Admiral Garp's blazing grin. Crocodile's surviving hand almost clenched on reflex, just barely stopping itself before the ring was crushed between his fingers. 

He exhaled soundlessly, staring at the thing. 

"Looks expensive," Mihawk said after a while.

* * *

He went on for another year, killing whoever and whatever he was directed at. A cold, ugly humor had developed in him. So many simpering ideals on the Grand Line, fools and hand-holders wanting glory and adventure and thinking friendship and love could convey them the world. It was oddly gratifying, stomping out such tripe from the heads of these people. He couldn't pinpoint when he'd started finding joy in acts so petty and cruel, but found the realization didn't mean shit to him.

There wasn't much that meant anything to Crocodile by then.

It was boredom that had his eyes straying to the Den Den Mushi eventually. The number he'd long since grudgingly memorized wandering up and down the halls of his thoughts. 

In the end, he supposed he called because he just wanted things to be easy.

Because he wanted perhaps, at the crux of it, something he didn't have to need.

* * *

**to be continued...**


	10. The only way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more part to this mini-arc to go. This chapter contains references to "A Test of Endurance" and "Fire" chapters. All you really need to know is Doffy has severe severe PTSD, which Croco deals with an inordinate percentage of the time. 
> 
> Warning: Dubious consent/rape territory

_For the next few years it's a game. Meetings in remote hotels, tumbles in brambly groves, their claws hooked into each other as if animals in heat. They drew blood and left bruises, moaned and howled and swore as they fucked--spiraling down and down into that dark, forgotten place. No softness to be found in those years._

_Doflamingo had been a new whisper of terror on a thousand lips then. He was a monster fully grown, shedding off itching skin. His shadow stretched the sky, his strings roamed the earth, he was as impervious and mercurial as a storm. He did not want for anything and not a soul dared tell him no._

_Except Crocodile anyway._

_Crocodile told him no plenty._

_And he was moodier than Doflamingo could ever hope to be, and more stubborn by a thousandfold. Whatever unspeakable things the Grand Line had unleashed upon him, they had wrung his spirit dry of all pity. And remorse. And everything. He never spoke of dreams again._

_There was no spark of curiosity in his eye for the world anymore. No wry tilt of his mouth in faint humor. He'd given up trying to live and resigned himself to survive, convinced it was all that'd been meant for him. Time warped his heart. He turned spiteful and bitter and cruel and Doflamingo was so infatuated he hardly knew what to do._

_He'd have taken anything then, even a bored, lust-driven routine that signified nothing. That was fine. They didn't have to need each other. In truth, Doflamingo would've been content to let the grains of sand slip from his hands inevitably and forever, so long as they'd been in his hands at all._

_He never thought Crocodile would be the one to find him in that alleyway, sprayed with the gore and brains of whatever-his-name-was. Doflamingo could barely remember what happened in the first place. Just that one minute he'd caught a worm trying to sell him out and the next he was on Minion Island, trudging through the snow, shooting his brother over and over again because he'd endangered the Family and **made his choice.**_

_He hadn't had a full-blown episode in ages, but in hindsight he should've seen it coming. It'd been a nasty period of time._

_Doflamingo was almost embarassed in fact. He'd certainly gone looking for Crocodile with the pretense of explaining himself. They'd been wrapped up in their own lives for so long he hadn't expected anything more (though of course he'd insinuated, of course of course), or for Crocodile to mention afterwards that he wouldn't begrudge him the occasional call or two._

_If he didn't know better, he'd have thought his lovely reptile was feeling sorry. Trawling the murky bottoms of his heart just for him, how very touching._

_Pity Doflamingo was certain it'd never happen again._

_He supposed he'd not been right about much lately._

* * *

It began with a shaking hand.

In truth, Crocodile would've hardly noticed if Doflamingo hadn't made such a deliberate effort to hide it--placing it behind his back, resting it against a wall or table, dropping whatever he'd been doing to stuff it into his pocket. Brat was always more apt to make a scene when trying to avoid one.

But Crocodile didn't ask. He wasn't in the business of trying to connect anymore. Easier to keep his head that way, as he'd learned at last. 

And Doflamingo never offered an explanation either. It was obvious he'd rather avoid the subject. Crocodile wasn't going to expend the energy opposing that.

"Winter soon."

Doflamingo sat on the pier, balanced on a post beside him. They were watching hired hands load Crocodile's ship at Spider Miles, preparing it for the Grand Line again and whatever chain of islands Sengoku was inflicting him upon. The brat had been in a rare, quiet mood recently. 

"You know in some parts of the world, winter's considered the holy season. People see it as a rebirth, that they'll find peace from the past somehow. In the cold and dark. In all that silence." He laughed suddenly, made a sailor flinch hard as he passed. "What terrible things do they think they're free from, I wonder. Just 'cause it's buried in the snow." 

Doflamingo's hand began trembling again. He slid it into the shadows of his coat. Crocodile eyed it minutely. Looking back, he should've just brought it up then. Would've save them both so much trouble. 

But he didn't. Wasn't his concern. Didn't matter to him. 

Crocodile's gaze returned to the sea. 

"Fools believe whatever they need to."

They were silent afterwards. Up until the foreman meekly informed Crocodile the ship was ready for departure. Doflamingo smiled faintly, waving him off with his steadier hand. He'd begun to realize Crocodile would probably never leave the North Blue for good, that he'd wind his way back sooner or later on his own terms. Made him less clingy than before. Not by much or anything, but less. 

"Come back soon?" 

Crocodile snorted, and because it was simply what the brat always asked, he headed for the ramp without pause.

"Not if I'm lucky."

* * *

For most of fall he's out of touch with Doflamingo. The brat was running multiple operations, swiftly ripping open a spot for himself in the weapons' trade. Sengoku's bitching escalated by the day. His rage was so intense it was almost unnatural. If Crocodile thought the Marines had fixated on _his_ activities, then there wasn't a word yet for what they did with Doflamingo's.

At least a quarter of marine forces must have been deployed to the North Blue by then. Old Tsuru had taken it upon herself to watch Doflamingo almost non-stop, giving up a cushy position in Mariejois to dog him through waves and gale. There was an air of something personal in the whole situation, though Crocodile couldn't have fathomed what. 

Mostly he just took advantage. With all that focus on the shitty bird, Crocodile did whatever he wanted and had re-amassed his original fortune by fall's end. It bore him though. Crocodile was far past the point where beris could hold his interest. He wanted something else. Something bigger. 

He was still trying to piece out what that could be when the brat vanished.

Almost impressively, considering how many people had been monitoring his giant ass. The Family went fucking nuts. They must've destroyed three entire towns in their search for him and Vergo began contacting anyone with even the remotest connection to Doflamingo, demanding for his whereabouts. Crocodile got called at least six times. Thrice by Vergo, once by a young woman named Monet with sobbing children in the background and once each by Mihawk and _Kuma_ of all people, both saying (rather pointlessly after the fact) that they'd forwarded his number to the Donquixote crew.

Crocodile sighed, his eye twitching slightly as Daz came to the doorway again. The Den Den Mushi sat in his meaty hand, the shell blinking from another recent message. Why they thought he had a clue where the idiot could be was beyond him. 

"Bastard..."

"Sir?"

"He's a full-grown man," Crocodile snapped, clipping his cigar, "I think he can take care of himself." 

It came out crosser than he'd intended. Crocodile glared at nothing in particular, flicking his lighter. Daz was quiet. 

"...I believe the concern is more over the other issue."

The filter smoldered. No demand was made for elaboration, but Daz had been around long enough. He could read the signs.

"Apparently, he was acting very erratic before he disappeared. Hasn't been fully stable since the season began, according to his executives." 

Smoke poured into his lungs. Crocodile's memory flashed unbidden to the night on the pier. The brat's grin glinting like a knife. A hand shaking and slipped out of view. _Not if I'm lucky..._

Annoyed. Crocodile was annoyed. The feeling came out of nowhere, lodged itself deep and squeezed everything tight.

"...What does he think he's doing?"

"Pardon?"

There was a puff of the cigar. "If someone's that easy to wack off, then he's not worth the effort to find."

"I don't--"

"Tell them to set a course for the North Blue."

Daz Bones gawked, his stoic countenance dropping. "Sir?" 

"You heard me, Daz."

To his credit, the man regained himself quickly, straightening and heading back out. He didn't ask until he'd already crossed the threshold, a hesitant glance over his shoulder, like he didn't really want to know but couldn't resist. That'd be the basic gist of Daz's feelings over the entire affair.

"Are we going to look for him?"

A muscle in Crocodile's neck twinged. "Did I say that?"

"No, boss."

"Then hurry up."

Daz nodded. He took the knob and swung the door halfway behind him, before pausing again. 

"But...we _are_ going to look for him?"

Crocodile raised his head and Daz shut the door, brisk footsteps fading up the stairwell. Such a perceptive man Daz was.

* * *

He didn't find Doflamingo though. Not until autumn had flickered out and all remaining heat of the year with it. A still, white winter misted over the shores, made visible the steam of their breaths. Frost crystallized on the sails. Daz kept suggesting they pull back to the Grand Line, while the deckhands wondered among themselves why they were here in the first place, frozen whispers beneath the breath of chapped lips, too fearful to pose a real question.

Crocodile didn't particularly know why he was here either. He despised the cold and the North Blue had the most unforgiving kind there was. He should've long beat a retreat for Paradise or the Archipelago, instead of wasting time on this aimless island-hopping. The bastard was gone. Marines and rival pirates were beginning to encroach on the Family, prepared to hunt them down and make North Blue a free-for-all once again. 

And the brat was gone. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he'd hallucinated himself out a window or off a bridge and now his bleached bones lay resting in the reef beds. 

Crocodile clenched the rail, the searing cold of the metal spearing through his flesh. Goddamn bird. What a disgraceful way to go. 

"We're heading to Lvneel," he told Daz finally, and didn't bother mentioning it was the last island of the North Blue before hitting the Grand Line. Daz could read a map. He knew. 

"I'm sorry, sir."

"For what?" Crocodile snapped, "The ship needs re-fueling."

Daz just looked at him. "We can stay a few days, you know. If you need to."

Fury warped Crocodile's features. "I don't _need_ anything. We're leaving soon as we're ready. I'm sick of this fucking sea."

And he was done with it too, Crocodile decided then.

Done at last.

* * *

They docked along the rims of the kingdom, where crime blossomed and the black markets flourished. The air was cutting and stunk of drugs. Snow was heavy in the clouds but had yet to fall. Crocodile spent most of the day menacing sellers for information on Alabasta and mapping routes through Reverse Mountain. He desiccated a thief trying to mug him and then a group of thugs for just being in the way. People gave him a wide berth after that, not daring to make eye contact.

Good on them. He probably would've killed them too. Crocodile gnashed the end of his cigar and stalked down the frozen streets. On the east end, he found sea charts. On the west, eternal poses. 

And further inland, sprawled beneath a rotting pagoda, he found the brat.

North Blue wasn't done with him.

Probably never would be done with him.

Crocodile walked carefully, steps crunching in the frost-bitten grass and then creaking across the sunken floor. Doflamingo didn't move, his head bowed as if asleep, the moon lining him in silver. He was still in his standard black shirt and white capris. The feathered coat was crumpled haphazardly between his back and the pagoda wall. Crocodile crouched down, settling in the tangle of those long, spindly legs. He tucked a hand beneath Doflamingo's chin to raise his head. The skin was cold. 

"Brat?"

He almost raised his hook to pull off the glasses when Doflamingo roused. Crocodile could see his brow furrowing as he looked at him. Several blank seconds went by, before there was a glimpse of recognition. Doflamingo tilted out of his hand, smiling. 

"Back so soon?" he said, as if he hadn't been missing for a month. As if they'd just seen each other yesterday. Crocodile lowered his hand. Stared. Then he lifted it again and carded fingers through Doflamingo's hair, ostensibly probing for any bumps or injuries. They lingered for a moment at Doflamingo's temple, fuck if he knew why. The bastard's expression shifted in surprise. 

"Missed me that much, Croco-chan?"

Large hands curled around his biceps. Crocodile didn't move. 

"You know you're bleeding," Doflamingo whispered.

There was a deep cut across the brat's forehead, blood winding down the edge of his brow and inching across the bridge of the glasses. 

"I'm not," Crocodile said, trailing after it, "You are."

Doflamingo said nothing. His face was anemic, deathly white beneath a slice of moon. He released an arm to ghost fingertips along Crocodile's chest. They dragged over the same spot of his heart again and again, as if checking for something. The hand shook violently.

Eventually, Crocodile reached up to hold it still. Tremors racked it even in his grip and Doflamingo's breath wheezed. Despite the chilled air, sweat dripped off his chin. He reeked of drink and grime. 

"Where have you been?" Crocodile said.

No answer. Wind whistled across the decayed beams of wood over their heads, drawing away dust, flaking off old paint. Lucidity was slipping out of Doflamingo's expression just as easily and Crocodile's eyes narrowed. He needed grounding. Crocodile raised his hook and wrapped Doflamingo's hand around the hilt. The bitter cold of Lvneel nights had rendered the metal into ice. 

"Press down," he said, and then flattened his own hand around the idiot's when he didn't and pressed for him. Doflamingo jolted hard at the freezing contact, wrenching his hand back with a hiss. It was almost visible, the moment Doflamingo reoriented again. 

" _Fuck,_ Croco what--"

"Come with me," Crocodile said, lowering the hook to his side again. He didn't even wait for an answer, simply standing and climbing down the stone steps onto the illuminated path. It took a full minute before Doflamingo followed, confused and voice at a whine. 

"No, it's fine, see?" His fingers hooked Crocodile's sleeve and spun him around, touching the center of his chest again. "No blood."

Doflamingo grinned as if the words had made perfect sense. He snaked around Crocodile's waist, pulling him close. "It's fine."

Crocodile glared, observing again the wound on his head which had begun to clot. A suspicion had been growing in his thoughts, lurking around the edges until he finally chose to give it voice. 

"You're off your meds, aren't you?"

Doflamingo stopped smiling. So abruptly it was like a mask sliding off. For several beats, they merely stared at each other, scorching holes with their eyes, before Doflamingo's grin returned with heightened force. Jagged and bright as a shard. 

"I said I'm fine." Nails raked into Crocodile's side. "They make me dizzy anyway. 's only for a couple of days."

"It's been a month."

Doflamingo laughed. "What are you talking about?"

Crocodile almost sniped that that was his question, but stopped himself. He could be pissed later. Extremely so. But it would have to be later.

"Where do you think we are?"

"Fufu, what? Spider Miles obviously. You left only a week ago, wani-man, did you forget already?"

Crocodile had the distant thought that this was pretty bad. He pressed on with a few more questions, swatting Doflamingo's wandering fingers aside. For all intents and purposes, the bastard seemed alert enough to give coherent answers. But he was stuck in the middle of autumn and couldn't understand anything beyond that point. It was unnerving. 

"'s better that you're back," Doflamingo said, "Winter soon. I know you hate the cold, Croco."

The calm hand buried beneath the flap of Crocodile's coat, started peeling the clothes off his shoulder. Crocodile balked. 

"Are you _joking?"_ He pushed Doflamingo's hand away. "Stop it."

"Huh?" The confusion was so honest it prickled Crocodile's skin. "Why?" 

"You're not fucking me like this."

"Oh, we can switch it up if you'd rather--"

 _"No."_ He shoved his way out of the cage of arms. "You need those pills."

For a moment, Doflamingo just looked baffled. Utterly so. Though it was only a moment and then it bled out of his face, leaving displeasure behind.

"You pick the worst times to be a tease." The hand sprung out again, snatching Crocodile's wrist. It was crushing tight this time and Crocodile consciously withheld a wince. He forced calm into his voice, layered it over his own sizzling temper.

"Let go." 

But Doflamingo didn't. He drew Crocodile back over, cradling the edge of his jaw. 

"Let me have you. I can't wait anymore. Don't make me wait anymore. I'll die. Go mad." 

"Too late for that." Crocodile glared up at Doflamingo. "You've no idea what you're saying. I'm taking you back to your crew."

"I don't _want_ the stupid pills," Doflamingo snarled suddenly, a raw, piercing sound in the night. His lens flashed and his breathing began to grow harsh again. Crocodile could almost see the artery, hammering madly in his neck. Another fit was coming. 

"Dofla--"

"No, forget it." Crocodile was suddenly released, arm dropped like a discarded piece of meat. Doflamingo stumbled back, turning slightly off-kilter of the pagoda and into the dark grove beyond. His voice rasped like a saw.

"I hate this time of year. Hate it hate it hate it. And you can be such a _bastard._ Wasn't my fault. You made your choice. I don't need this." He started walking as he rambled, casting out strings and Crocodile's eyes widened when he realized the brat was about to take flight. 

"Hey," he muttered, taking a step forward, "Wait."

And again Doflamingo didn't listen. He lifted his foot, about to step onto a bundle of the wiry strings and disappear into the fucking stars probably forever. Crocodile's next words leaped over his brain and straight out his mouth. 

"Fine, let's fuck."

It was almost comical, how instantly Doflamingo froze. He stared over his shoulder. 

"Only if you come with me," Crocodile made sure to caveat, "Only if you come with me and take your meds."

He could've told him to drink the oceans dry instead and Doflamingo wouldn't have plastered himself to him with any less speed. Crocodile swore, staggered under the sudden weight leaning into him, before sighing. He held Doflamingo's shoulder still for a moment, checking his hand with a surreptitious glance. The tremors continued. The idiot's breathing though seemed to relax again, the heart rate slowing down.

 _I'm going to kill this brat one day,_ Crocodile vowed, tiredly, and led them out of the woods.

* * *

Daz gaped when he returned to the ship with Doflamingo in tow. Didn't even try to be subtle. Crocodile supposed he couldn't really blame him for it, though that didn't stop his irritation anyway. He sent the man off to try and contact the Family, while he brought Doflamingo into his quarters, dealt with the cut on his forehead and slapped a handful of pills into his palm. The brat's mouth twisted. He swallowed them dry without a fight though, even lifting his tongue when Crocodile demanded to check.

"Fufu, I could get you a much better look," he said, shifting on the bed. Crocodile rolled his eyes and set the medicine bottle back in his desk drawer. He was more than relieved the brat was too out of his head to wonder why he had the exact prescription. 

"How about you just go to sleep?" he muttered, as he drifted back over. He really wasn't in the mood, but still let Doflamingo tug him down onto the bed beside him. Crocodile kept his gaze to the darkened ceiling as Doflamingo pawed his clothes off. 

The brat's movements were febrile. It was clear he couldn't control his strength very well and every pinch or squeeze left harsh welts. Crocodile thought with tetchy certainty he was going to be eighty-percent bruises come morning. 

And bleeding too, based on how roughly Doflamingo entered. Crocodile sunk into the mattress with his hand balled in the sheets, teeth clenched as crimson flamed across his cheekbones. Doflamingo was oddly silent, looming over him to thrust more easily, resting his ankles on his shoulders. 

"I don't want it to snow," he said, tone blank and soft. He was a smear of black and gold as Crocodile peered at him through the haze. The shaking hand was on his hip, the grip weaker than the other one. Crocodile ended up concentrating on it, the vibration of it against his skin, how it constricted sometimes as if holding something hard. The bed squealed and rocked. 

Doflamingo never spoke again. Crocodile was fucking glad.

* * *

He blinked awake when the toilet flushed, sitting up in the dark to a distinctly cooler bed and nearly mistook it for dawn. One bleary-eyed glance at the clock stated otherwise though. Outside hung the slate-black face of the witching hour. They were nowhere close to dawn.

Crocodile's eyes trailed to the closed bathroom door, the pinstripe of light beneath where a shadow moved. Something clattered in a container. The toilet flushed again. The bed was cool. 

They'd finally fallen asleep in a sweaty tangle after Doflamingo had exhausted himself. He remembered the long body crushed up against his own, breathing in cadence against his ear, radiating enough heat to replace Alabasta's sun. 

Crocodile swung his legs to the floor, cringed at the pain which rocketed down his thighs and made each step a knife-point. He cursed the bird out as he limped to the bathroom, clinging to pieces of furniture.

"Doflamingo?"

Up close, the door was actually ajar, taking only a single nudge to swing open. Crocodile squinted through the flood of sterile light. The idiot was wiping his mouth, his back to the entrance. 

He was half-leaned against the sink, one hand curled loosely on the counter-top. The shape of his spine peeked through scar-riddled flesh. A pill bottle rolled languidly on its side, near his knuckles. Empty. 

The same one he'd placed in his desk hours before.

Crocodile slammed the door aside so hard it rattled and bounced off the wall. 

"What did you do?"

He grabbed Doflamingo by the arm and wrenched him around. The brat was clammy with sweat and his chest heaved. The non-damaged eye was utterly glazed. The sour tang of bile hung like a blanket. Panic was trying to ripple through Crocodile's veins. He ignored it with a fury, choosing to focus on a more familiar emotion instead. Like fury. 

"You _crazy fuck,_ do you have any idea how much that shit cost?" he hissed, and let Doflamingo go in frustration as his mind raced. He was pissed at himself for leaving the bottle in such a plain location. It'd been careless. He should've known better. Now he'd have to re-piece the dosages. At least Lvneel had a thriving drug trade and Crocodile still had the list. It was doable.

"Stay here," he snarled and went stalking for the door, aches long forgotten. He'd just passed the jamb when a hand seized his wrist. The last of Crocodile's patience evaporated and he turned to shout at Doflamingo, possibly deliver a hard smack to the skull. Doflamingo yanked him forward before he could, a lean column of shadow against white light. His voice was husky and faint, in the pitch of a child's. 

"Rosi, we have to run." 

Crocodile blinked. "Who--"

Arms like steel traps clamped around his shoulders and the back of his knees. His feet left the ground.

* * *

It had snowed in the night. A fresh powdery blanket covered the deck and gangway, piled onto floating masses of dead seaweed. Doflamingo walked straight through it with his shirt hanging open and no shoes. He didn't seem to feel the cold, babbling about how he could hear "them" coming and it was important to stay very quiet.

"Don't move around, Rosi," he chided, again in his strange faraway voice. Crocodile listened for the moment, studying Doflamingo's face as he was carried off the ship and onto the narrow, crumbling jetty. This wasn't the same type of episode the brat had had in that alleyway over a year ago. He'd been able to recognize Crocodile then at least. And who was Rosi? Crocodile racked his brain for anyone with that name Doflamingo could be associated with, but drew up empty. Maybe it was someone in his crew...

"Where are we going?" he asked carefully.

"Down the corridor. I saw a hole in the fence a few weeks ago. We can crawl through, or climb over if it's been fixed. The rats might be out, but you have to keep quiet even if they bite you, okay? It'll only hurt for a little bit. Just a little bit, I promise."

Crocodile's lips pursed. Crawling through fences meant Doflamingo had to have been at least normal-sized in whatever period he was stranded in. Something ominous lurked in the air. Crocodile didn't like where this was going. He must've tensed unconsciously, since Doflamingo hushed him. He smiled down with unseeing eyes, almost like glass marbles.

"Don't be scared, Rosi. You're alright."

His hand shifted, resting gently against the back of Crocodile's head as if in reassurance. It was such a delicate move that Crocodile did nothing but stare for a second, stunned. Didn't even hear Daz when he came thundering after them until he'd literally started yelling.

"BOSS!" 

Doflamingo lifted his gaze. "They're here," he rasped and Crocodile felt the hand leave his hair. 

Daz's eyes were narrowed to slits. His forearms had already morphed into blades. He was charging down the jetty like a freight train.

"Let him go!"

 _"Don't move!"_ Crocodile roared, and startled Daz into a dead halt. Barely in time since Doflamingo sliced apart the floor a scant meter from his feet a second later, the wood exploding like confetti. 

Daz stumbled as an entire section of the pier crunched and collapsed into the water. He skidded back another step. Doflamingo lowered his hand.

"Stay away."

"Do as he says, Daz," Crocodile ordered, before he could protest, "You have no chance. You'll just get yourself killed." 

Daz flinched as if he'd just been struck. Crocodile couldn't have given a shit. He was more interested in preserving the man's neck than his feelings.

"This idiot threw up his pills and flushed the bottle," he continued, jabbing a thumb at Doflamingo, "Take the prescription list and restock all of it in the bazaar. Drag them out of their fucking beds if you have to. Do it at gunpoint, I don't care. Just get that shit refilled. Cost isn't an issue."

"But--"

"Just go."

Daz frowned, hesitated a beat, before saying, "You should come with me, boss. Why haven't you turned into sand yet?" He shifted and Crocodile felt Doflamingo bristle. 

"Daz..."

"Sir, he--"

"Stay _away._ "

"--isn't there."

Haki exploded in an obliterating wave before Daz could finish taking the step. Crocodile caught the flash of raw shock on the man's face, before he was sent sailing backwards over a hundred meters. He was agile enough to flip himself mid-air and avoid breaking his skull open on a post, but the landing looked anything but painless. Crocodile really hoped Daz hadn't managed to snap any important bones. They had enough problems already.

Doflamingo pulled him closer, to the point where he swore his ribs creaked. 

"Easy," he croaked, glaring, "Calm down, you shitty bird."

But Doflamingo wasn't looking at him. His clouded eyes were fixed on Daz and there was hatred in them almost beyond description. Like a blackhole, swirling and soundless, devoid of even anger. Crocodile's lips parted. He'd never know what he was about to say then though, since Doflamingo's next words made his own crumble and vanish on his tongue. 

"Don't touch my brother."

Silence.

Daz struggled to his feet, staring. Crocodile stared too. 

Silence, silence.

"Hurry the fuck up, Daz," Crocodile said, without looking at him. 

The man obeyed.

* * *

**to be continued...**


	11. a man survives

Doflamingo wandered back into the woods. He'd gone silent again, staring intently down whatever narrow alleyway hazing across his vision. He was still holding Crocodile in his arms, still stepping through the frost barefoot. It crunched beneath their combined weight--the sound like little handfuls of brittle bone snapping apart. 

The winds moaned, stinging sharp and without scent. Somehow, Doflamingo's naked chest was proving warmer than Crocodile's entire clothed body, emitting wave after wave of pure heat even after a whole hour in the crisp chill. Crocodile gave this sour contemplation as the brat maneuvered through the snow-piled conifers. He wasn't sure what else to do besides wait for Daz to return. His hook was still on the ship and reorienting Doflamingo without the help of drugs didn't seem possible this time anyway. The brat was truly out of his mind.

 _Can't believe you think I'm your brother, you shitty bird. We don't even look remotely alike._

Crocodile's brow furrowed. He could still recall the brat's excited phone call all those years ago, rambling about his little brother. He'd never heard him sound like that before. For approximately four-point-seven minutes, he'd sat there listening, sleep-muddled and pissed off, before hanging up. That'd been the unceremonious end of their contact for years to come. Crocodile had his own shit to attend to. What did he care about where Doflamingo was. Who was in his family or out. 

His father's advice had never sounded more sensible than in the years following the Grand Line. 

Maybe he was paying for it now. 

"Hey."

Doflamingo's sightless gaze drifted down to him. Insensate. 

It was almost creepy to look into for long, as if down the center of some abysmal tunnel. Crocodile held his gaze stubbornly. "How old am I?" 

An odd look. "Six, Rosi." 

Crocodile's eyes widened. He paused a moment, let that sink in. 

"...how old are you?" 

The hand beneath his knees tightened. Doflamingo's voice was soft. "Eight obviously, why are you asking dumb questions?"

Crocodile didn't respond.

* * *

In truth, he'd been in the position a couple of times to learn of Doflamingo's past. The entire pirate world was essentially a hideous grapevine anyway, information cycling around and around. If he'd made the effort, if he had dug, he would have known. Maybe not all of it, but definitely the specifics which counted. It might have even been prudent to, at least from a pragmatic standpoint. Blood in the water as it were.

But he hadn't bothered. He'd left him alone.

He didn't want to understand Doflamingo. That kind of shit required more input than it was worth. 

He would know. He'd already tried and what had that gotten him? A fucking stump for a hand. A withered soul. 

A man had to learn. How the hell else could he survive.

So Crocodile ignored the twitches, the scars, every mutter in the dark when the brat thought him asleep. What were they to each other? 

Nothing. 

A passing fancy. 

A dulling memory. 

Something he'd never have to need.

* * *

They stopped in a field veiled in snow. The smooth, virginal kind yet to be marred by man or beast. Doflamingo, in the way of his nature, traipsed into it without pause. His steps seemed even louder out in the open. There was something strange about the expanse of space in general which left a stillness beyond unsettling. Not to mention he'd finally gotten to the point where the hook felt more part of his body than apart. The prolonged absence of its weight was uncomfortable.

"Look, Rosi," Doflamingo said, breath a white cloud, "We're almost there."

Crocodile held his arms loosely over his torso, studying the path they were meandering down. Incredibly, he recognized the outcropping of trees some meters ahead. The curved tip of that decrepit old pagoda was just visible behind the branches--the same one he'd found Doflamingo under only earlier in the night. His eyes narrowed. What could the brat even be seeing?

Another snap of wind filtered down from the starless sky. He couldn't stop himself from stiffening against it, a harsh swear between his teeth. He swore ice crystals were forming in his pores and certainly between his toes. His feet overall were starting to go numb, hanging over the crook of the brat's arm and being battered by the frost-flecked night. Doflamingo barely even blinked. The flaps of his shirt had reacted more. 

Crocodile finally couldn't stop himself. "You freak, aren't you _cold?"_

The hazy eyes lowered, a bemused tint to them beneath faintly creased brows. Doflamingo spoke slowly, "'s not so bad...better than before."

"Before?"

Brat didn't respond. Just lifted his head and stopped where he stood in the middle of the field. The snow was densest here, not even a sprig of grass peeked through. 

"It was here," Doflamingo said, "In the snow." 

He gathered Crocodile closer to his chest like a stuffed toy. He would've struggled, but the bastard was so fucking warm, he probably huddled closer on instinct. This wasn't going to work. It was too freezing out here to keep sitting around waiting for Daz. 

_...should come with me, boss._ His first mate's voice returned unbidden. _Why haven't you turned into sand yet?_

Crocodile's jaw twinged as he looked down, a stray steel button of Doflamingo's shirt taking the brunt of his glare. From the start, he had felt his own flesh recoiling against the temperature, trying to scatter of its own will through Doflamingo's hands. Ready to leave him here in these barren white woods, splintered mind or not. 

But he'd stayed. Resisted the inclination even. 

Here he was. 

That was as far down the road Crocodile would walk with that thought.

And if he couldn't leave, then the only option to him was snapping Doflamingo out of it. Fucking somehow. So he brainstormed a moment, tried to think of how best to proceed. A measure of delicacy was probably called for. 

Crocodile exhaled. 

"No, it wasn't," he said quietly, "It was colder back then, right? Like you just said." 

Doflamingo blinked. As if something was stuck in his eye, or Crocodile was spouting off in a different language at him. He shook his head slowly.

"It was here..." His body shifted, weight leaning from one leg to the other. "Or...was it not..." 

Crocodile sat up straighter, kept his voice low.

"Think about it. Where are you now? Weren't we just in an alleyway, going down the corridor? Weren't there rats? How did we get here suddenly, in the middle of a field? Doesn't make sense, right?"

Doflamingo looked away, his expression pinched. Crocodile thought he saw a brief flash move across his eye. Was it working? He wasn't completely confident about this rationale approach he'd taken. Doflamingo had been more or less fucked up since the day Crocodile had met him a thousand years ago. He'd never thought the brat had been completely there, even minus the extra loose screws recently. Felt like there'd be some disparities between them on what should or shouldn't make sense. 

"Look at me." 

Doflamingo did, leaned down with a beyond alien expression. Always this certain angle of his head that made all his features glow. 

An entire beat passed, before Crocodile realized he was just staring himself. Then he continued, newly vexed. 

"I want you to look at me carefully. Think for a minute. Who am I?"

Doflamingo's hand slid upwards along Crocodile's shoulder, drifted to a stop around the shell of his ear. Coarse fingertips wove through a few locks of his hair. The brat _was_ looking, Crocodile could tell. Thinking. But after a moment, he shook his head and the fog didn't clear from his eyes. 

"Rosi."

"Look harder."

"I can't." 

Crocodile frowned. "Yes, you can."

"No," Doflamingo said and broke their gaze altogether. Crocodile was just finishing off a very flat curse in his head, when the brat added, "You're underneath."

"What?"

"The snow." A nod towards the field, the densest part where no sprig of grass peeked through. "Where I put you."

The silence which followed was a torrent. Sudden. 

Deafening. 

Something flitted down Crocodile's spine, a biting chill matched even with winter. Doflamingo pressed his forehead against his temple, the stark colors of their hair entwisting. Harsh breath dragged over Crocodile's frozen skin. 

"It was so damn cold."

* * *

This was what he knew about Doflamingo, compiled frankly into a list.

Loud.

Obnoxious.

Maybe a good lay.

Maybe a little funny, a pinch clever. 

Also incomprehensible.

An obsessed fool.

Couldn't let anything go.

He was brutal.

Had nightmares.

Acted always like he was starved out of his mind.

Prowled the North Blue. 

Worshiped by his crew.

Murdered his brother in the snow.

* * *

They returned to the pagoda. The roof, rotted through as it was, at least provided some minimum shelter from the wind. Doflamingo sat down blankly against the molded wall. Crocodile was still in his lap, all his previous words gone. Only one of substance left.

"Why?" 

Doflamingo almost smiled. It was a ghastly look, mutilating his well-bred features. 

"You were a spy. You worked for the Marines. Endangered the Family." Nails sunk into the dip Crocodile's waist, hot as fire. "You were a complete fucking traitor, so _who_ exactly is the appalling one here?"

For any decent person, Crocodile knew the answer was obvious. Though he supposed he wasn't decent in any sense of the term.

And, as he came to realize once the shock faded, he wasn't appalled either. The brat had learned a lesson the hard way. Something Crocodile could relate to.

He found himself saying, "Past is past. Whatever happened there. No use thinking of it anymore."

Doflamingo didn't reply. The grin disappeared though and his face took on the hollow facade of a mask again. A vast breadth of time went by, before the brat spoke again.

"You got in the way. You made your choice." Doflamingo raised his right hand, trembling more madly than Crocodile had ever seen it. The fingers were fully bent and curled, as if holding onto some invisible object. 

Then Crocodile's mild frown dropped, as he realized what it was finally and abruptly. The placement of the forefinger and thumb, the wrist where arterial veins pulsed. 

A gun. 

Doflamingo laughed suddenly, a scraping bark of a sound. 

"I killed my little brother," he said, "Shot him full of holes. How could you make me do that, Rosi?"

Crocodile sighed.

"...why cling to this, huh? What's the fucking point?"

He was really just talking to the air though, since Doflamingo didn't seem to hear him. It was clear from his face alone that he was getting swept away once more, dragged back into the depths after almost breaking surface. Crocodile watched him with a sense of resignation. He'd lost all feeling in his feet some time ago and his hand was following suit. 

He wasn't even sure what compelled him to reach up then, ringed fingers laying across Doflamingo's left temple. He allowed his thumb to trace the dark circle beneath the brat's scarred eye, a single lingering pause. 

"If I catch pneumonia from this," he muttered, "I swear I'll beat you senseless."

And then let his arm fall.

Doflamingo snatched it back up.

Crocodile nearly flinched, blinking as Doflamingo pulled his wrist close. The brat was staring at his rings. _Gaping_ at his rings. His mouth had fallen open. 

Crocodile spent a second utterly confused until he cast a glance at his hand himself. Then his face froze up with alarm. Because in the night, the sapphire one glinted at them like a wedge of the moon, soft as shadows in snow. 

Because _oh fuck, he'd forgotten to take it off._

Doflamingo raised his head. His gaze was staggeringly clear.

"...Crocodile?"

* * *

There were a few things he could have said then.

It's not the one you think.

Couldn't get a good price.

Why'd you pass it through Mihawk like a fucking valentine.

And of course the only thing he managed to say was nothing at all. Too busy staring at Doflamingo, expecting the lucid moment to be a fleeting match in the dark. But after another minute passed, in which Doflamingo's expression only grew more and more whole and blue, Crocodile threw out the first thing that came to mind, voice utterly dry. 

"You're a dumbass."

He left his hand where it was, gripped hard in Doflamingo's palm. The brat filled in the blanks for himself.

* * *

Doflamingo hummed all the way back to the ship. Crocodile kept expecting him to miss a step on his nigh-invisible strings and send them both hurdling into the ground. Almost kind of wished for it. Then he could suitably murder the idiot and try to forget the last three and a half months ever happened.

"Shut up," he growled, shifting slightly against the shirt flaps Doflamingo had semi-wrapped him in. It was better insulation than it looked. Just when he thought he couldn't sink any lower. 

"Are you warm enough, my wani?" Doflamingo cooed, swinging to the next line with ease, as if Crocodile was a bundle of feathers. 

"I fucking hate you."

Doflamingo laughed, mouth engaged in a very deliberate effort not to grin. His chest rumbled beneath Crocodile's ear.

When they landed on the jetty, the brat glided over the collapsed chunk of the walkway with barely a pause, asking nonchalantly, "How'd that get there?" 

"You threw a fit and broke it," Crocodile informed, just as bland, "Almost Daz too."

"Did I?" Doflamingo said, and started humming again.

* * *

Speaking of Daz, the man ended up reaching the ship almost the same time as they did. He was carrying an entire rucksack, clattering full with syringes and pill bottles. His arms also flashed into blades as soon as he saw Doflamingo, who beamed wide at him, waggling his fingers. "No hard feelings, boyo?"

Crocodile walked by their Mexican stand-off for the cabin. God, it was nearly dawn. He needed a fucking smoke.

* * *

A few pills, two heat-packs and three cigars later, a hand was suddenly shoved into Crocodile's face.

"Whoa, look, Croco, my nails are polka dots," Doflamingo said, brandishing the fingers until Crocodile grunted irritably, pushing the damn bird to sit back on the sofa. 

"Side effect," Daz supplied without being asked, "They didn't have the exact brands. I had to improvise."

That probably called for some concern. Crocodile let the thought roll over him rather flatly. He picked up Doflamingo's right hand, much to the brat's aggravating delight. It was still now, no longer jittering to the point of spasms. Good enough for him.

"You did fine, Daz," he said and shoved Doflamingo down a second time as the brat tried to move. "Stay here. I don't need you wandering around the kingdom not knowing where the fuck you are."

"I know where I am," Doflamingo purred and grabbed Crocodile's wrist, pressing his cheek against the sapphire ring, practically rubbed against it like a cat. Daz began staring again and Crocodile sighed. There was a strange well of embarassment and exhaustion swirling in his gut. He was getting too old for this shit.

"Leave."

Daz nodded without comment at least. Crocodile didn't think he even needed to say for the man to be off contacting the Family. He seemed eager for Doflamingo to go. Not that Crocodile could blame him. 

He waited until the door had clicked and shut, before allowing himself to relax. 

"You'll take your pills from now on," he said, taking a seat beside Doflamingo, his hook hanging off the arm rest, "Be a good brat and stop causing me trouble."

Doflamingo made a noise of assent. He had the loopiest grin on his face. 

"As you wish," he said, snaking an arm around Crocodile's shoulders and making him scoff. 

The silence this time was far more tolerable. Crocodile blew a stream of smoke from his cigar. He waited. Until eventually, Doflamingo finally asked.

"So what'd I say?"

"Should it matter?"

A pause. "...Well, depending on what I said...it could matter to a lot of different people."

"Hm, too bad." He ignored the frustrated sigh. "It's buried now. Winter rebirth and all that shit."

"What are you talking about?" Doflamingo muttered. 

Crocodile merely shrugged, gazing out the porthole where the snow had begun to fall once more. _Doesn't matter to me,_ he thought to say, propping his feet on the coffee table. Didn't say it though. 

"How should I know."

* * *

**fin.**


	12. Beauty of a secret, pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Other chapters referenced: 7, 8, 9 and 10
> 
> Highly recommend reading the above first. It's a lot more enriching of a narrative afterwards.

_Crocodile was up to something._

_Well, his gorgeous wani was always up to something, but Doflamingo had no doubt it was going to be simply **horrible** this time. _

_That was the only purpose one built an entire underground dungeon for after all, aside from potential shits and giggles. And Crocodile wasn’t partial to that second variety, sad as it was._

_But he digressed. It’d been almost six months since his visit to Rain Dinners and Doflamingo had yet to really get it out of his mind—those lifts and levers, the winding corridors beneath the casino that had trailed into vast, sprawling rooms or flat stonewalls._

_Storage places, maybe. Crocodile still dabbled in the drug market. Slightly more now, ever since Doflamingo’s unfortunate little episode (an embarrassing one, he’d admit) over a year ago, which Crocodile was both dead-set on never talking about again and never letting him forget._

_Or maybe they were torture chambers in-the-making for that rampant sadism of his (ah, christ, that got him hard sometimes just to think about)._

_He wanted to know so badly. Had been poking and prodding at Crocodile for months in every underhanded fashion he knew. It was either that or play arbitrator again to another round of who stole whose nail polish and which line divided the room where._

_He supposed he ought to be dedicating more time to finding a larger base and whatnot. Teenagers got so tetchy with their privacy._

_But why do that, when he could be paying another visit or three to his favorite reptile? After all, Doflamingo really only had responsibilities when he felt like having them._

_And Croco could always use the loosening._

* * *

There is something to be said about Doflamingo's tongue. It’s a genetic disaster first off, but also one of the few things about him that Crocodile…minds less on occasion.

"Fucking tease.”

A snicker responds somewhere beneath the quilt.

"Patience is a virtue, remember.”

Warm, lithe fingers hold his cock, the tongue leaving a wet, blazing stroke along the shaft. The heat of Doflamingo has magnified by ten and the sinewy arms which spread over his legs feel like scattered pieces of the sun.

Crocodile bites down a moan when feels Doflamingo's lips part, streaming down the thick sides of his cock and taking him whole. It's a sudden descent into all-consuming, un-repenting darkness as he's swallowed to the base. If they'd been standing, Crocodile's certain his knees would've buckled. 

A violent gasp escapes him when the tongue wraps along the length like a vine, building pressure and sucking gleefully. At some point, one of their Den Den Mushis starts to ring, but neither of them really hear it. _Purupurupurupuru..._

Crocodile's hand disappears beneath the cover, capturing a fistful of golden hair. They're in a cheap-ass hotel on a flimsy bed and it squeaks at their every move no matter how small, quaking beneath their combined weight.

_Purupurupuru..._

Doflamingo's tongue slides beneath the cock's veiny underside, the balls gathered up in his broad palm and massaged. Crocodile's head has fallen back before he's even realized it, a groan tearing free and fuck it, he'll admit he's hot for this, he wants it, he does, he—

The voicemail clicks on. 

_“YOUNG MASTEEEEEEEEERRRRR!”_ a child's deafening shriek explodes through the room. _“SUGAR'S BEING MEAN TO MEEEEEEE!”_

The reactions are instant on both their parts, Crocodile wrenching Doflamingo off him just as the idiot near bites down on reflex. Crocodile scrabbles to rip away the quilt, revealing Doflamingo's giant frame still partially sprawled over his lower half, a long sliver of precum hanging from the corner of his mouth. They stare at each other for one thoroughly dumb second, and then at the Den Den Mushis. 

Doflamingo's snail is blubbering. There's a stomping of feet, more screeching and grappling sounds like the speaker piece is being yanked back and forth. _'SHUT UP, BABY! YOU'RE JUST A BIG FAT TATTLETALE!' 'SHE'S NOT KEEPING TO HER SIDE OF THE ROOM!' 'YES, I AM, YOU LIAR!' 'YOU'RE THE LIAR!'_

Within the next second, Doflamingo is struggling off the bed, kicking free the other sheets tangled around his legs. Lucky for him, his trousers are still on and he manages to scoop up the Den Den Mushi and scarper out of the room before Crocodile starts to see red.

He still pegs the closest thing on hand at the door anyway, just as it shuts. His unbuckled hook leaves a crack.

* * *

There is no less erotic thing in the world than the banshee wails of children. Crocodile deals with his flagging boner in the dingy bathroom under a dense haze of fury. Eventually, he hears Doflamingo snake back into the room on the other side, attempting to referee whatever spat's erupted between his brats. It must be the seventh time at least he's left Crocodile literally high and dry to deal with them. His tolerance at this point is frankly hanging by a nail.

Maybe Doflamingo recognizes this too, because he sounds rather impatient, unable to keep the story straight, half-yelling himself and just snaps at them to duke it out for space in the end, before cutting the call. 

Crocodile is out the bathroom around the same time, yanking on his pants as he goes.

"What are you doing?" Bastard has the nerve to ask as he hunts down his shirt and shoes next. 

"Wasting my time apparently." 

Doflamingo winces and Crocodile can’t find the shit to give. He should look a lot sorrier than that. It's a fundamental rule of good business: set up an expectation, follow the fuck through. He’d been having a terrible week and a half too, hitting a wall on a more specific location of the Pluton poneglyph. This is what he got for actually looking forward to anything involving this asshole. 

"Don't be cranky now.” Doflamingo glides over, recovering quickly. A giant hand wraps around Crocodile's left hip, a thumb slipping beneath the band in spite of his glare. "Ignore that whole thing earlier. Just a minor distraction."

"You seem easily preoccupied by all your 'minor distractions.'"

A shit-eating grin is flashed at him. "Oh my, am I detecting _jealousy?_ Fufu, that pretty head need not worry, I'll always have time for you." Doflamingo gives an obnoxious snicker as he dodges Crocodile’s close-range attempt to skewer him; too adroit the fucking bastard.

"Besides," he says, seating himself on the corner of the bed, Crocodile kept in place with a hand, "it can't be helped. The family's grown and Spider Miles is getting too cramp for all of them. I've been meaning to shop around for new quarters actually, if you got suggestions, Croco."

"Aside from fuck off and die?" Crocodile's eyes narrow when Doflamingo just cackles. "You wouldn't be having these problems if you didn't insist on such a large, destructive crew."

“What can I say, the more the merrier."

“Sounds like it’s working well."

"Oho, we're going to be hypocritical today. I _know_ you've been looking for more Devil Fruit users recently. Not enough waiters, is that it?"

Crocodile doesn't respond. Doflamingo's perfectly aware Rain Dinners is managed by and large through Ultraking. The brat's just trying again to nose out what he's up to, his curiosity piqued ever since laying eyes on the casino's underground. Crocodile supposes he could tell him; Doflamingo isn't too interested in the long game, which is all poneglyphs and Pluton will ever be. 

But it's the mere fact that he wants to know, which makes Crocodile decide he's not going to bother. Why should he be the one getting what he wants tonight anyway? 

"None of your business," he snarls and shoves at Doflamingo's chest, summoning a light pout.

"You really are in a bad mood." He pulls Crocodile closer without warning, until he's forced to plant one knee on the bed between Doflamingo's splayed legs. "No need for that though. The night’s young, right? I can still suck you off real proper-like. No interruptions this time."

Crocodile sneers, unconvinced. He almost begins struggling again when the hand around his waist slithers south and to his front. Crocodile freezes when the button pops open. The fly eases down. Fingers glide along his now-flaccid length. Doflamingo laughs.

"And maybe I'll stretch you out afterwards, and fuck you in all your favorite places, until morning's here and this teeny little bed snaps beneath us. How's that sound?"

Goddamn delightful. Crocodile maintains his scowl stubbornly, even as his cock is already betraying him on the subject. Doflamingo is easing his shirt up now. Not even his sunglasses can hide how he's leering. "Such a vision you’ll be in the dawn."

Crocodile sighs. 

"I sometimes doubt you hear yourself."

He touches Doflamingo's bare chest though, skimming nails over the rippling musculature. And after a moment, he lets Doflamingo switch them around and capture his lips for a hot and breathless beat. Soon they're both sheened with sweat again and Crocodile's spine is arching off the mattress as that tongue makes another debut and—

_Purupurupuru...purupurupuru..._

"Just ignore it," Doflamingo releases a mouthful of dick to rasp, like he honestly couldn't have cared less if his brats had straight-up murdered each other, "Ignore it, ignore it..."

Crocodile grunts. As if he needed to be told. 

He’s getting that soft, shivering weakness in his knees again as Doflamingo goes bobbing for another taste. The voicemail box clicks awake.

 _"This is rare,"_ the fucking Hawk Eye's voice resounds through the area, _"You usually pick up calls by the third ring, Crocodile. I suppose I'll have to assume you've not expired yet."_

"Is that Mihawk?" Doflamingo mutters at the same time Crocodile grips his hair and snarls, "Don't you dare stop."

The bed continues rocking as Mihawk goes on. 

_"A warlord conference is getting called at Mariejois. Your presence is to be expected."_

_Fuck that._ Crocodile thinks deliriously, blinding white streaking his vision as he reaches his peak. He can almost feel the brat's lips curling, before he's pulled in deeper, against the wet roof of Doflamingo's mouth and over the precipice of his throat. Doflamingo swallows once, a hard sudden constriction. 

And that’s it for him. 

With a single sharp exhale, warm throbs of cum stream down Doflamingo's throat. The brat gulps it down eagerly. When he finally lifts his head, there's a thick trail of semen coating half of his mouth and chin. The tongue's whipped out, licking it clean. 

_"Such an odd choice in islands. It's quite run-down. I thought your tastes ran on the higher end."_

"I'm gonna shoot that snail," Doflamingo rasps, voice raw and husky. He doesn't actually do anything though, aside from surge upwards to kiss Crocodile again. Crocodile responds lazily, feeling boneless and without weight. He can taste himself all over Doflamingo and it's starting to turn him on again already--the idea of owning something so wild and deadly. 

_"And there's this peculiar smell. Very unpleasant."_

"Ready for act two?" Doflamingo croons and Crocodile’s not aware enough to recognize he's grinning back. 

_"You do realize your room is next to a prostitute ring."_

"Surprised he knows what that is," Doflamingo mocks, giggling like a lunatic, while Crocodile's arms loop around his neck. 

_"Oh, Doflamingo is there too, I see."_

Crocodile's breaths grow strained, gasping as Doflamingo breaches inside him with a finger. "What's he...even fucking talking about?" 

"Who knows. Probably lost his mind."

"Have I?" a voice muses from behind the door, "Impressive of you to be questioning someone else's mental stability."

They stop. 

There’s a displeased sniff of the air. The Den Den Mushi and the voice outside speak in tandem. "It really does reek out here." The knob jiggles abruptly. "I'm coming in."

It turns.

* * *

"You could've said you were in the middle of performing intercourse," Mihawk criticizes later as they unload from the ship and onto Mariejois soil. He's walking between their towering forms, arms folded with utter indifference as Crocodile tries to light passing buildings on fire with his gaze and Doflamingo stares ahead, unable to decide if the past few hours have been hilarious or tragic.

"You could've _knocked_ like any other damn person," Crocodile snaps, "The fuck does Sengoku want in the middle of the night?”

"Hm? Oh, nothing, he wants us here tomorrow morning. Some information about altered fishmen territories, I believe. Doesn’t have much to do with us actually.” 

Mihawk shrugs when they stare at him. He points a thumb over his shoulder at the giant naval tanker they’d rode in on. “But he said I’d have that ship to use freely if I brought in two other warlords for the meeting.” 

A furrowed brow. “…Now that I’m thinking on it though, I probably won’t use it. The tugboat is much simpler.”

Then he keeps walking. Brushes right by both of them.

“Do not stand in the middle of the road,” he adds, “You are obstructing traffic.”

* * *

“You’re so pretty when you’re pissed,” Doflamingo sighs even later, sniggering as Crocodile gnashes the end of his cigar and fantasizes about it being Mihawk’s head. Or Sengoku’s. Or hell, Doflamingo’s.

The brat’s taken some sort of bullshit silver lining approach to the whole situation. He’s never minded the meetings and touts an attendance record that’s almost as repulsively consistent as Kuma’s. Easy for one to do when prying into everyone’s business was a favorite pastime.

Crocodile on the other hand, is finding precious little to be amused about.

“Where are we going?” he growls as Doflamingo ushers them through the fancy streets. They’ve got at least nine hours of pointless downtime now. Crocodile would much rather be using them to sleep.

“Fufu, you’ll see,” Doflamingo says and barely turns around to respond. 

He’s making note of the lacquer signs, leading them through a multitude of left and right turns as if he actually recognizes the names. Crocodile gives it all bland observation. He follows without enthusiasm. 

The building they finally stop at is a titan of marble and bronze. Gold-domed and lined in hundreds of shiny white pillars. Adorned in architecture so insanely flowery Crocodile wrinkles his nose. 

Doflamingo sidles up behind him, chest against the back of his skull and coat skimming his cheek. “That,” he says, “is the grand central library of the holy city of Mariejois. Almost every scrap of word or paper that’s ever existed has a record in there. A very good place to be if your own sources have run dry.”

His eyes widen a split second. Crocodile forces the intrigue out of his expression quickly however, sliding his hand into his pocket. 

“Oh? Isn’t that nice. What’s your point?”

“Fufu, no point, Croco, no point. Only flagging it for you,” Doflamingo says, leaning down. “Bit of a maze in there though. Catacombs and everything. And I know how much you hate wasting time, so…if you so happen to want a look around, I wouldn’t mind being your guide.”

Crocodile tilts the faintest of eyebrows. In truth, he was beginning to wonder if the poneglyph location had been preserved in records beyond the black market’s reach. He supposed he could use some of the information available in a place like this. Especially when his presence in Mariejois was easily explained by the meeting and no real surveillance would be in effect until tomorrow.

Still…

“Your confidence is revolting. What makes you think you’ll know the layout any better than me?”

He half-expects Doflamingo to go on a long, winding boast about his navigational prowess. Instead, the brat just laughs. 

“Not only you. I’m less of a stranger than almost anybody.”

Crocodile waits for him to elaborate, his scowl deepening when he doesn’t. He’s got a weird inclination to believe him though, hard as it is to explain.

“Hm. You must really want to know what I’ve been doing, don’t you, brat?”

Doflamingo’s grin is so wide it’s amazing his face doesn’t tear in half. 

“My lovely Sir, I don’t know what you mean. How can I guide you without the destination you seek?”

Crocodile just rolls his eyes, thinking for another moment as he weighs the pros and cons again while Doflamingo almost rocks on his heels in front of him. For all intents and purposes, he supposes he could’ve easily told the bird to go fuck himself and muddled through the stacks on his own.

But he does so hate wasting time. Brat was right about that at least.

“Hm,” he crosses his arms, staring up into Doflamingo’s face, their foreheads nearly touching, “you do know how to tempt me now and again—“

“Greetings again.”

It will never be certain how, but Mihawk manages to shoot up right between the two of them like a fucking weed. If he’d been any taller, they would’ve both gotten cracked in the jaw. 

As it were, Crocodile gets a face-full of feather instead from Mihawk’s hat, while Doflamingo straightens with a vein prominent on his forehead. His grin’s not-so-amused anymore.

He looks apt to open his gob and start a fight, so Crocodile cuts in first, “What do you _want,_ Mihawk?”

The man doesn’t even blink. 

“Change of plans. Kuma just arrived a few minutes ago. Since it’ll likely only be the four of us in attendance, Sengoku decided the meeting’s commencing now.”

“What are you, his new carrier pigeon?” Doflamingo snaps, before Crocodile can. Mihawk’s probably present at two meetings per year at the most, if even that. The fact that he’s passing messages to them on Sengoku’s behalf is fucking bizarre and beyond annoying.

“Such anger. Was I interrupting something,” Mihawk says, not as a question, and without a drop of interest. He glances at the building behind them and whether he recognizes it or not, he says nothing. Merely crosses his arms and stares in the pitch-black direction of the conference hall. 

“Come,” he says, like the three of them are embarking on some fucking dragon quest. “Let us go.”

* * *

**to be continued...**


	13. Beauty of a secret, pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Other chapters referenced: 7, 8, 9 and 10
> 
> Highly recommend reading the above first. It's a lot more enriching of a narrative afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronological order of story so far:
> 
> 1\. Keep a distance  
> 2\. Tread lightly  
> 3\. Loguetown, pt. 1  
> 4\. Don't ever love  
> 5\. A Test of Endurance  
> 6\. Fire  
> 7\. The only way  
> 8\. a man survives  
> 9\. Loguetown, pt. 2  
> 10\. Loguetown, pt. 3  
> 11\. Beauty of a secret, pt. 1  
> 12\. Beauty of a secret, pt. 2
> 
> Extra: HBD, asshole

In the entirely too long trek back to the conference building, Mihawk reveals that he’s been on the hunt for samurai swordfishmen—a particularly aggressive breed that nests close to the enigmatic shores of Wano Country. 

“A few of them have wandered to the Red Line’s coast,” Mihawk says to Doflamingo’s overly probing questions, “Their skill with the blade is undoubtable. I have every intention of locating one and battling it to the death.”

He sounds almost excited and Crocodile’s brow lifts in faint bemusement. The man had been immeasurably bored for years now, almost as long as Crocodile’s known him, and was always on the search for a new opponent. A shitty predicament to be sure. Sometimes, Crocodile nearly felt sorry.

Not enough to say anything right now obviously. Fucker had still walked in on them. Twice. 

“You’re such bad luck,” he snaps as Doflamingo sidles up beside him once they enter the building, Mihawk pulling ahead into the polished stone waiting room.

The brat flaps a giant hand. “Oh, relax. Do you honestly think Mihawk cares why we were there? I doubt he even recognized that was the Mariejois Library.” The corners of Doflamingo’s lips rise, revealing a pearly strip of teeth. “We just have to be a little more careful.”

Crocodile eyes him suspiciously. That tone cannot possibly bode well.

Sengoku storms in, before he can demand further explanation. A young cadet stumbles behind him, weighted down with maps and sea charts. “Let’s get this over with,” Sengoku grumbles, “Sooner we finish, sooner we can all be free of each other.”

He brushes past them, though Crocodile notices he pierces Doflamingo with a particularly hateful look which Doflamingo either doesn’t see or coolly ignores. 

“Gonna sit next to me this time?” he says, grin creaking wide.

Crocodile gives a languid, singular blink. “Why would I ever?”

“Fufu, we could have some fun of course.” Crocodile’s eyes widen when the hand slides out, concealed behind the bulk of Doflamingo’s coat. It wraps around his hip, a warm, hard and possessive weight. “Keep each other awake through this snoozefest.” 

His voice is husky, with that glimpse of charm that’s always given Crocodile pause against his will. He regards Doflamingo for several beats, half-leaned in. “…hm, is that so?” 

Naturally, it’s that exact moment which Kuma decides to come lumbering over, bible folded proudly over his breast. Crocodile stiffens into a near plank. Mihawk aside, it’s unclear how the other warlords would react to their…whatever-the-hell-this-is. It’s probably forbidden somehow for warlords to act this way. And even if it isn’t, Sengoku, with his errant and inexplicable hatred for Doflamingo, would eagerly make it so if word got to him. That’s far too many fucking problems to deal with at once. 

So it’s with the curtest of haste that Crocodile shoves Doflamingo off of him, ignoring the brat’s pout and glaring any would-be complaint into silence. It’s about half a stumbling second prior to Kuma’s shadow eclipsing them both. Doflamingo looks up in surprise and then beams wide. 

"Barty!" he greets, all jubilance, ever to Crocodile's perturbed fascination. Brat’s always had a bizarrely amiable relationship with Kuma. It’s one of those stones he thinks is best left unturned. 

The giant man in question dips his head in kind, the opaque surface of his gaze sweeping down upon them like a floodlight. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. The Hawk Eye does enjoy dragging the two of you along.”

Crocodile rolls his eyes. He can't help sniping, "Oh fucking really? Tell us more."

It's about equal, the amount of reaction Kuma has vis-a-vis that of a rock.

“Any more and it’ll have to be spelled out for you, Crocodile. That’s the whole point.”

“Huh?”

But the man is already plodding by for the conference room. Crocodile stares after his towering back in vague bafflement. He looks at Doflamingo.

“What’s he talking about?” 

Ever helpful, the brat shrugs.

“Barty loves his scripture.”

“That wasn’t scripture, you idiot. He was wholly suggesting something.” 

“Like what?”

“That’s what I’m asking!” Crocodile pales at a sudden thought, eyes narrowing. “What if he knows?”

Doflamingo snorts. “Think you need to relax, wani-man. You’re a looker no doubt, but not everyone can be eyeing you twenty-four-seven.” He dodges the hook to the face blithely, barely missing a beat. “Besides, should he get it into his head to narc on us, I’ll just kill ‘im. No big deal.”

Crocodile glares. “Thought you got along with him.”

“Fufu, I do. I’m actually quite fond of Barty in truth.” The hand returns suddenly, all slithery grace as it tunnels beneath the layer of his coat. “But…if it’ll help my Croco sleep better at night, then let the heads roll.”

Doflamingo peers down, the wolfish profile of his grin flashing. And for whatever fucking reason, blood begins to try and flush over Crocodile’s skin. He shoves out of the brat’s hold again, backing into the shadows to bury his face. 

“Dumbass bird, I’m not your anything.” He turns heel for the conference doors. “Now hurry up, before someone’s sent out to bitch at us.” 

But Doflamingo doesn’t move. Only chuckles and lets his hands fall and the smarmy response Crocodile’s expecting never comes. 

“No, I suppose you’re not.” 

It’s the introspection of the words perhaps, or the strange sincerity and patience in them that makes Crocodile pause and turn around again. Doflamingo’s still smiling, but it’s become somehow inscrutable. Like the one he had worn at Rain Dinners that night months ago, leaning along the moat’s rail, while bananawanis hissed in the pit below. 

“And you’re the only one too, you know.”

Crocodile’s mouth pulls down, a shade discomfited. “What are you talking about? Stop blathering and let’s go.”

Doflamingo is still not fucking moving.

“You’re the only one—”

“Brat—”

“That I ever—" 

_“Shut up.”_

Crocodile’s eyes have grown wide, the glinting pupils little more than dots. Doflamingo stops instantly. Stares at him. For once, he listens and says nothing more. 

Or at least Crocodile doesn’t wait for him to try and say anything more. He’s already heading through the doors at a sharp, brusque pace. Something of ice trickles down the ridges of his spine.

* * *

They don’t end up sitting next to each other. And for the entirety of the meeting thereafter, Crocodile doesn’t even look at Doflamingo, staring with undue intensity out the glazed window pane instead.  


There’s a snarled net of feelings inside him that he’s worked his way up to acknowledging and then stopped short of untangling. He’s dead certain he’ll regret it if he does. He really only gets them when the brat’s involved and that observance alone unnerves him too.

So he settles for leaving it there, a heavy weight of discomfort and irritation lodged at the bottom of his chest. 

At the very least, Doflamingo isn’t trying to get his attention either. The brat’s fucking around with his Den Den Mushi now, trying to settle another Family argument based on the chagrinned look, while Sengoku and Mihawk have a long, pointless blow-out in the background.

“I don’t care if they’re the last swordsmen on planet earth! You are a warlord, a _representative_ , and you’re to leave them alone.”

Mihawk’s arms are crossed. He looks vaguely displeased. “Why? Should they fail to measure up, I will make their deaths swift.”

“Wha—that’s not the point!” Sengoku’s fist slams on the table, making a standing cadet jump. “You are _not_ going to travel around slaughtering fishmen when the whole damn purpose of these re-drawings is improving relations with fishmen!”

“It is to be a duel. Not a slaughter.” A pause. “Unless their capabilities have been grossly misstated somehow. Then I suppose it shall be a slaughter, yes.” 

Sengoku’s mustache bristles, standing on end like porcupine quills. They go another loop around the same damn argument. The clock strikes three a.m. 

Crocodile has never hated this job more.

* * *

By the time Sengoku ends the meeting, at 4:34 in the fuck o’clock morning, with a last wrathful warning to Mihawk, Crocodile is very much sick of every single face in the room.

He storms out the moment the doors open and doesn’t stop until he’s standing in the middle of his provided suite a block and a half away. The ash of his dying cigar burns welts into the polished floor. He collapses onto the leather couch, selecting a new cigar from his tin and has worked that one down to the near filter as well, before the shadow descends upon the moonlit room.

Doflamingo settles over the balcony in a web of strings, his long impossible legs crossed beneath him. He doesn’t come inside and says nothing. 

For many beats neither does Crocodile. He stares at the shadow, how extensive and lean it is along the pale blue wall, and exhales a hard stream of smoke.

He does end up speaking first though, eventually. “I’ve always been clear about what I wanted from this.”

“Yes.”

“I told you at the beginning.”

“You did.”

“And if you’re finally sick of it then—”

“No.”

Crocodile purses his lips. He uncrosses his legs after a moment and stands, walking to the balcony doors. A maid has pushed them apart to let in the fresh, tangy smells of the nearby sea. The curtains, ornate silk, ruffle and waver in the night’s breeze. 

Doflamingo’s face appears and disappears behind them, never clear. Crocodile is so inexplicably annoyed by this that he catches the curtains with his hook and shoves them aside, nearly tearing the fabric in the process. Then there’s nothing between them, and the brat’s looming over the platform, perched on strings that catch beneath the moonlight, finer than hair, more razor-edged than piano wire. Crocodile stares into the crimson lenses. 

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You and I are nothing.”

“I know.”

Crocodile keeps frowning. He’s not sure Doflamingo does. The brat cuts in though, before he can draw out the point further.

“It was just a joke. Earlier I mean.” The corners of Doflamingo’s lips curve. A very thin, spindly thing. “I know what you want.”

Silence. Doflamingo nods towards the distance, where Mariejois’s gold-brick road winds through the luxurious rows of buildings and estates. 

“There’s still two and a half hours before the morning guards begin patrol,” he says, “Let me take you through the library.” 

He offers his hand. Crocodile doesn’t look at it, regarding Doflamingo with bemused eyes. The brat’s smile is utterly impersonal, no trace of that unnerving expression from before. As if Crocodile had imagined the whole thing. As if it really had been a joke. 

A corner of his mind prods that he shouldn’t just believe him and leave this alone. That if the brat wants to change the rules then there’s no possible way they can keep this going... 

Crocodile's brows furrow deep. It's too early in the day to go dissecting this type of shit, he decides. Far more productive to be focusing on things he already knows he wants. And he wants Alabasta. He wants the Pluton poneglyph. He wants to suck the joy and spirit out of every godforsaken face he's come across in that desert. It's a nice, straightforward list. Easy to follow. Hard to get lost. The choice is very clear when he rearranges it all in this manner.

He lifts himself onto the balcony rail in one ghostly step, standing across from Doflamingo. The added height makes them almost eye-level and the brat drops his hand, grin shrinking slightly in puzzlement. His strings dance around them, swaying in the wind.

And it’s at the moment where Doflamingo’s expression almost falters that Crocodile finally deems to speak. “Don’t keep me waiting, brat.”

Then he vanishes right through Doflamingo’s strings, a dispersed cloud of sand, riding the wind towards the Grand Mariejois Library.

* * *

“If you wanted to race, just say so,” Doflamingo accuses later, when he lands in front of Crocodile on the sprawling white stairs, the sixth of a minute behind. “No need to cheat.”

Crocodile snorts and turns dismissively. “How old do you think we are?” And feels then nearly compelled to add, “You couldn’t catch me anyway.”

Doflamingo bursts out laughing, a sound both wry and disbelieving and makes Crocodile halt in confusion as the brat saunters past. 

“I know,” he says, lifting a closed hand.

Strings stream out of his sleeves and into the door locks, turning and pushing the delicate pins and tumblers. It’s less than a second before the doors click and groan wide, shadows swirling forth out of the depths. Then Doflamingo’s hand opens too.

A small stream of sand spills from his palm, leaking through the cracks of his fingers. 

“Never could,” he says, almost beneath his breath, “and never have.”

* * *

**to be continued...**


End file.
